Xibalba
by Mary Ruth Keller
Summary: While Mulder vacations with his Mother in Mexico, Scully commits them to solve the disappearance of two archaeologists. During the investigation, the X-team finds themselves prisoners of Zapatista rebels and targets of an assassin sent by the Consortium.
1. Conjuring the Way

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Note to the reader: The stories listed as authored by Mary Ruth Keller are all in a single universe, the Kuxan Sum Cycle. While each is an investigation that stands alone, they should be read in the following order for the plot and character developments to make the most sense.

**The Caroline Lowenberg Trilogy**

_Sins of the Fathers  
__Xibalba  
__Twelfth Night  
_Saytr Play: _Rustic Suite_

**The Dana Scully Trilogy**

Prologue: _Time Out of Joint  
__Passages in Memory  
_Interlude: _Roman de la Pendrell  
__Archaea  
__Zurvan  
_Saytr Play: _Anath_

**The Sandra Ann Miller Trilogy**

_Chermera_

More following...

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Short explanatory note on the Maya:

The world of the Maya is full of wonderful twists and turns, some historical, and some spiritual, perfectly suited for an X-file. Just a few comments before we get started so the terminology won't drive you away. First, most Maya consonants and vowels are pronounced as in English, with the biggest exceptions being 'x', 'ch', and 'tz', with the accent in words on the second syllable. The consonant 'x' is pronounced as a long 'sh', so my fictional Maya king's name, 'Ux Balam' would sound like 'Oosh Baa-LAAM'. The 'ch' is basically a shorter 'sh', and the 'tz' sounds much as it would in German, or like the zz in 'pizza', so the Maya city-state of 'Chichen Itza' should be pronounced as 'shee-SHEN eet-ZAH', if you care. The Maya concept of 'way' is much like the 'Force' in the Star Wars trilogy, in that it is everywhere and in everything. It can be controlled by Shamans to speak to those in the Otherworld, which is like an alternate reality coexisting with our own, that overlaps with the Maya underworld of 'Xibalba' (shee-BAAHL-bah, lots of fun to say).

The numbers in the Maya Long Count Calendar dates should be separated by periods, rather than slashes, but the periods were causing formatting problems.

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_Xibalba_ by Mary Ruth Keller

Part I - _Conjuring the Way_

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Seibal Ruins  
Border of Mexico and Guatemala  
Saturday, July 6, 1996  
Maya Long Count Calendar 12/19/2/6/18  
4:30 pm

"Send that pickaxe down here!" Doctor Steven Waters, the leader of the expedition, was at the bottom of a pit dug through the center of the pyramid that was both tomb and temple. Originally a scholar of the Classical Greeks, he had been drawn to the Maya in graduate school, fascinated by the idea of ancient American astronomer-priests. Tall and lanky, his now-greying blonde hair and pale skin showed Viking blood somewhere in his Saxon past.

These long, hot summers in the Central American rain forests were his favorite time of year, an escape from the tedium of faculty meetings and classes. He, with colleagues, students, and an international team of archaeologists were excavating what they suspected to be the as-yet unplundered tomb of one of the kings of Seibal. Three-Jaguar were the original titles assigned the glyphs that formed the king's name, but it would have been spoken in ancient Cholan as Ux Balam. The pyramid raised over Ux Balam had cost his people dearly, taking five years to complete. It had diverted resources from the wars that were plaguing the Maya cities, contributing to the eventual fall of Seibal to its enemies. But to the archaeologists and ethnographers, if it was unopened, the tomb was a time capsule to the late Classic Maya of the Southern Lowlands.

The pick struck at a visible crack, then a small block of stone was pried free from the tomb covering. Doctor Waters stuck a flashlight in the opening, then flicked it on. The light reflected off five skeletons, laid out on top of an elaborately carved stone plate. So far, the grave was like that of the great king Pacal at Palenque.

Doctor Robert Harris, co-leader of the expedition, stepped off the ladder at the bottom of the pit. In many ways, Bob Harris was a complete contrast to Steve Waters. Short and dark of skin and hair, trained in the new school of Maya scholarship, his idea of good research was not sweating in the jungle. He preferred sitting back in the lab with his graduate students, debating the nature of the Maya world-view while interpreting the glyphs.

"How does it look, Steve?" Harris squinted into the slit between the stones.

Doctor Waters rose to hand the flashlight to his sweating colleague. "Take a look, Bob. I think you were right. But why, at this late date, the people of Seibal were taking all this care with Ux Balam, I still don't understand."

Bob Harris took the flashlight, then peered in. It was all that the glyphs on the tree stones lining the road to the pyramid had said. A great tomb, for a great king. "I'll send the Maya shaman down here. This is one of his ancestors, not just a puzzle for the great white thinkers to solve. It's good to be doing this right for once."

The two scholars agreed, had taught their students, that the Maya was a living culture, albeit one that had deliberately abandoned its literate past.

The end had come when the sacrifices of the kings, the ritual ball-games, and the offerings of blood could not convince the gods of the Otherworld and in Xibalba to send them more rains and corn. That the cities had been the cause of the trouble was something the Maya could not have understood. They had built on the rivers that ran to the Gulf, covering up the best cropland, forcing the people to cultivate and heavily irrigate the poorer soils of the hills. Population pressures eventually overwhelmed the agriculture of the time, advanced though it was. Once the cities and the way of the kings was abandoned, the rivers reclaimed the land. Life would begin again.

-o-0-o-

There was barely enough room in the pit for the Shaman to move around as he sought the blessings of the deities he was invoking. The scholars, graduate students, some of the Maya workers, and a few representatives of the nearby towns were in the pit. They had pushed back against the walls to let the ritual continue.

Despite the consideration of his audience, Peter Torres found himself shuffling while rotating in one place, rather than circling the opening, as he would have preferred to do. He had laid out the sacred grains of corn, followed by a circle of black and white beans, then piled a few pieces of chicken on top.

His teachers would have sacrificed a live chicken to let the blood run over the food, but these were new times, so one had to adjust. Just as one did not use one's Maya name with the whites anymore. These scholars had surprised him with the depth of the understanding of the old ways, claiming they could read what the ancestors had written. Glyphs, they had called the markings, then they had told him the names of the stars as he had learned them, all hidden from the Catholic Priests.

As a precaution, he began by invoking the names of the deities the Church had taught, calling on the Blessed Mother and her Son, before asking for those he believed truly controlled the fate of the Maya today.

_Wait._

He stopped the ritual to wait in stillness.

_Leave this place._

Torres frowned. _Why was his ancestor speaking to him now?_ He waited, but there were no further words to be had. He turned to the two archaeologists. "Doctor Waters, Doctor Harris, you should stop digging here."

The silence in the pit was broken by a collective gasp.

The two scholars exchanged glances.

Bob Harris frowned. "Why is that, Peter? Should we have left the ceiling of the tomb sealed before you got here?"

The Shaman shook his head. "No. He has told me to leave. Told us all to leave."

Steve Waters took up the questioning. "Who told you we should leave?" It was all very well to respect Maya religion, but this was more than he could stand. There was knowledge in that tomb that belonged to all people, the Maya included, so they just couldn't walk away now.

"He did. The ancestor lying here told me."

The few Maya diggers and locals began to climb up the ladder, out of the tomb.

The graduate students were concerned, confused. Would their professors' respect for the Maya ways actually overcome their scientific curiosity? _No, of course not._

Doctor Waters persisted in his questions. "Who is he, Peter? Ux Balam? Why would Ux Balam want us to stay away from his own tomb?"

The Shaman shook his head again. Despite all their learning, they still did not understand. They knew each king crossed to the Otherworld in prayer and ritual to wrestle knowledge of the future for the spirits there, but they still did not believe. He could do nothing for them, so followed the other Maya up the ladder.

-o-0-o-

Mt. Vernon Bike Trail  
Alexandria, VA  
Saturday, August 3, 1996  
Maya Long Count Calendar 12/19/2/8/6  
8:30 am

Fox Mulder was slogging along in the fifth mile of a ten mile Saturday, morning run. He had started early to escape the heat and humidity he knew would rise up later in the day. Riding wheel to wheel, two cyclists slipped silently past him. _Triathletes._ Why anyone would push themselves like that he couldn't understand, even he, who was very familiar with many forms of self torture. Normally he only ran eight miles, but today he had some thinking to do, a tough decision to make. He wanted to use the exercise to drain his emotion, clear his head. He heard the whoosh, whoosh, whoosh of a roller-blader coming up behind him.

"Passing on your left." It was a woman's voice, set deep in her throat, attempting to sound like a man as a rudimentary measure of self defense.

He waved her around.

She passed him, then slid back to the right on the narrow strip of pavement.

The trail crossed over several inlets as it wound from the Lincoln Memorial down to George Washington's home along the Potomac River. When it did, the surface switched from pavement to wooden planking on flat walkways. The woman had reached one of these low bridges. As she rolled onto it, her in-line skates started rattling.

Mulder snorted. Rollerbladers were as weird-looking as cyclists, since both wore similar gaudy helmets and tight lycra outfits. The serious cyclists wore those strange cleated shoes that made them walk like ducks, but the bladers were worse, with the black elbow and knee pads. He watched as she pulled away from him. Well, the tight lycras had certain benefits. They certainly showed off the figure of the short woman in front of him to advantage. Wait, that short woman had shoulder length red hair sticking out from under her helmet. That woman was...

"Scully! Wait up!"

She flashed a teasing smile over her shoulder. "Catch me, Mulder!" She pumped her arms faster, pulling further away.

_Okay, Partner. This is war._ Mulder started running, flat out.

-o-0-o-

Dana Scully was enjoying herself. She knew her partner, even with his longer legs, couldn't keep up with her once she took off. She had begun rollerblading on Memorial Day weekend, after borrowing a pair from a old friend from Medical School. Her knees and ankles had been hurting from all the jogging, but she didn't want to purchase and maintain a bicycle for exercise. Besides, these she could throw in a bag for trips in the field with Mulder, and occasionally, Assistant Director Walter Skinner.

Skinner's presence on field missions had been the string the Smoking Man had attached to the reinstatement of the X-Files. None of the three of them could figure out why that had mattered so much, but they had all sought to make the best of it, even her normally uncooperative partner. Walter Skinner appeared to enjoy being out in the field again, away from the politics of Washington.

She checked back over her shoulder. Mulder was about a quarter of a mile behind, running with a look of grim determination on his face. _He will *kill* me on Monday. He'll put glue on my chair, rig the desk, something._ But she didn't care. Today, for only today, she would beat Fox Mulder on foot, unlike all those chases where his long legs quickly out-paced hers. _It would help if you could do without the heels._ But, then she would feel about as tall as her Pomeranian, and would get about as much respect. Noticing she had reached Belle Haven Park, she looked to her car, sitting in the lot to her right.

_Didn't feel those last three miles flying by. Time to face the music, Dana._ She rolled to a stop, happy to have finished her eight miles for the day, so early. Her partner had fallen back some, so she worried his leg had started to hurt him again. She tried to pick out the emotions playing on the distant face, but he was too far away for her to see anything other than intense concentration. Scully pulled a bag out of the back of the car to sit on the left end of one of the benches off the trail.

Mulder finally caught up to her after she was tying on her street shoes. Her skates were nestled, boot cuffs to laces, the wheels slid into the tracks of her custom-built carrying case. She had not had the funds for something like this, of course; any salary not consumed by monthly bills went to pay off her medical school loans. But, the bag had been perched on the seat of her desk chair one morning shortly after she had started using the blades, so she knew who had. While she had intentionally not thanked him directly, she had made a point, while he had been filing case reports a little later that day, of praising its unique compactness, the extra pockets, and multipurpose repair kit. The flush to his cheeks when he sat afterward had told her the message was received.

Right now, however, the designer was doubled over, resting his hands on his knees. At least his mind was free of worry, but at this moment, he never wanted to move again. He staggered to the bench to collapse, still out of breath. _Next chase, Scully, you'd better be wearing those infernal things._

She held out a water bottle. "You okay, Mulder?"

He sent her a look of pure fury as he took the water. _She doesn't look like she broke a sweat._ He gripped the plastic, shot some liquid in his mouth, then smirked. _I'll fix that._ Staring intently at the river, he aimed out of the corner of his eye, before squirting water on his partner.

She let out a 'Mulder!,' then laughed as the cool fluid hit her hot skin. _Let him do it, Dana. Better than being glued to the chair for a day._

Mulder grinned as he set the tube on the bench. "Feel great, Scully." He picked up one of the skates, to make a great show of examining it carefully. "Okay, I give up, you take them off already?"

"Take what off, Mulder?"

He looked up at her, delighting in her confusion. "The jet engines you had clipped on here."

She laughed again, a good long belly laugh. Months ago, a comment like that would have been passed over without a smirk, but then she hadn't been sure she would have stopped to talk to him on the trail, so bad had things been between them. Now, however, their partnership had settled back into its old groove, so they felt completely at ease around each other.

_No, not the old groove._ Before Mulder had received the digital tape with the MJ data, she would have reacted with a tight-lipped smile, then stalked to her car. If anything, they were closer now than before. She knew his quirks, his flaws, and his strengths, as did he, hers. It made their partnership better, even though they still argued fiercely about the X-Files cases they solved together. She sobered, reading his pensive face as he slouched, staring out over the water.

"Mulder, you okay?" It was the second time she had asked. When he didn't respond, she reached over to poke his arm. "Earth to Agent Mulder. Come in please."

Running had cleared his head, his decision was made, so he turned to face her. "Scully, would you and your Mom like to come down to Mexico with my Mom and me in a couple of weeks?" _There. That was out._ He followed with a whoosh of air.

She grunted before tucking her right calf up under her left thigh, angling to face him. _Where had that come from?_ "What are you talking about? I thought you were having trouble getting your Mom to speak with you."

He was staring back at the river again.

"Mulder?"

Sitting up, he swiveled on the bench to rest his arm on the back. "She called me last night. She wants to take me down to the Yucatan for a week at the end of this month. Alone. She says it's really cheap down there this time of year." He focused on her face. "I told her I needed to think about it. I have." He lifted both eyebrows, silently waiting for her answer.

"Mulder! That's great!" She tipped her head to one side. "But my Mom and I would just be intruding. You and she need to talk. We couldn't, and my Mom would back me up. You two go."

He frowned, then looked back at her car. "That's part of the problem. I don't know where to start with my Mom. It would help if there were other people there. Just ask your Mom for me, okay?"

He was pleading with her now, so she nodded, knowing it would be easier to let him down gently, even though her mother would agree with her. Since his mood was beginning to darken, she thought quickly. "How about some breakfast?" _That worked._

His hazel eyes glittered. "Breakfast and what else?"

"Breakfast and a flea dip for the Fuzzy Wonder are all I have on my schedule this morning."

He groaned. _That useless dog, again._

-o-0-o-

Delta Flight 537  
Friday, August 23, 1996  
Maya Long Count Calendar 12/19/2/9/6  
10:30 am

"You okay, Mom? Would you like some water?"

Caroline Mulder nodded. The dry recirculated air on the plane had set her coughing, so her son was looking down at her, worried.

At her silent request, he unclipped his seat belt to head for the back galley of the airplane, where the flight attendants had congregated between take-off and serving lunch.

_When had he turned into such a gentleman?_ She thought back over the past twenty-four hours. He had been so very pleasant since she had arrived yesterday, evening. First, a light dinner at a lovely French restaurant in Chevy Chase, then a quick trip to Nordstrom's in Pentagon City on the way home. She had not traveled for any length of time in years so she was not prepared. When he suggested that they replace her old luggage with something lighter, she had readily agreed. He had even waited patiently while she fussed over matching colors. But, by 10:30 yesterday, evening, she was finally all packed. He had one bag to her five. Seeing them, she thought back to the one beaten leather case that had contained all her worldly possessions when she left Europe, a refugee, so many years ago. She had slept in his bed, rather than at a hotel, after he reassured her that he didn't mind, the futon was fine.

She smiled, thinking of one of her many conversations with Margaret Scully about her son and Margaret's daughter, Dana.

-o-0-o-

"Caroline, when did Fox stop sleeping on beds?"

Caroline's face darkened, thinking of those grim, sad years right after Samantha's "disappearance".

Margaret, seeing her expression shift, simply nodded. She knew. But she wanted to raise her friend's spirits, so leaning over the little cafe table, she caught Caroline's attention by touching her arm. "I ask, because he wouldn't use the extra room I offered him, except to store his clothes and change."

Caroline's curiosity was piqued. "When did he stay with you?"

"Over the weekend of the Fourth. He had wanted to get out of the city before all the tourists got in, so he and Dana drove over for those four days. Those two would stay up talking, late, every night. I would come down in the morning, after seeing Dana in her old room, and there he'd be, zonked out on the sofa, with the remote control on his chest. Never once, could I get Fox upstairs if it was dark. Dana told me not to fuss at him about it, so after the second night, I gave up."

"You don't suppose they're...?"

Margaret laughed at the shared motherly thought. "Caroline! You should know better. Can't you hear them now?"

The two women spoke together the words they had heard their children say so often. "Mom! We're *partners*!" Both of them broke out in giggles like gossiping schoolgirls.

"Well, Margaret, the more we push, the harder they'll push back."

"And Dana can be the stubbornest child, if she wants."

Caroline shook her head. "No, your girl has nothing, and I mean nothing, on my son."

-o-0-o-

Deedee Miller looked up at the passenger standing at the galley door. _It's him._ She recognized the man from a Phoenix to La Guardia overnighter in March, but he looked healthier and calm. When she saw him last, his eyes had been so haunted. _Is that red-head with him?_ "May I help you, Sir?"

He smiled at her. _Does she know me?_ "I'd like to get a glass of water."

She stood to reach into a refrigerator below the counter. "Would you like a bottle to take back to your seat?"

He nodded, so she began to dip a plastic cup into a bucket of ice, but he shook his head. "No, no ice. My mom doesn't like ice in her drinks."

_That was it._ Her friend Sarah Rogers had teased her mercilessly about the ease with which she gave her heart to strangers. But someone who was this good-looking, this gracious, should be able to have any woman in the world. She held out the cup and the bottle separately. He took them, smiled again, then left. _No ring._ Sarah and she were going to have a long talk tonight, once they met in Houston.

-o-0-o-

Mulder poured the spring water for his mother. _She acted like she knew me._

"Fox? What's wrong?" Caroline had seen him frown.

"Nothing, Mom. The flight attendant kept looking at me funny."

_My son._ Caroline shook her head almost imperceptibly. "Well, you do fly often, dear. She may have seen you on another flight. Do you remember her?"

He shook his head. "Mom?"

"Yes, dear?"

"Are you sure you're up for this trip? It's not only a stay on the beach, we have a four day cruise upriver to look at ruins, too." He remembered his mother as having been bed-ridden for much of the first years of his life. Even now, she seemed so tiny, smaller even, than his partner had been last March when she had nearly died.

His mother brightened. "Why, yes, Fox. I've been looking forward to this trip with you for a month now." _I don't want him to know I begged Margaret to come with us, and bring Dana. But I have to talk to my own son, not find out about his life third-hand._ She remembered the dark time when she had been afraid that if she saw Fox, she would break her promise to the man in the smoke-filled room, losing him for good. She had canceled Mother's Day, her birthday, and that same Fourth of July he had been with Margaret.

Then she had worked up the courage for this. She had to know how her son had turned out. Was he a spy, like his father, all sweet words and dark deeds? Or was he still the silly, clever boy he had been before Sam had been taken, the family breaking under her loss? They had talked so little since then. She smiled up at him, trying to reassure him, as much as herself. _We have time, now. Use it well, Caroline._

-o-0-o-

Seibal Ruins  
Saturday, August 24, 1996  
Maya Long Count Calendar 12/19/2/9/7  
12:00 pm

Progress had been very slow. After the Shaman's warning, none of the Maya would participate in the dig, so the scholars and their graduate students were doing all the work, not just sorting and cataloging the materials found. But they were finally ready to lift the great tomb cover off the last remains of Ux Balam. Doctors Harris and Waters had respected the proprieties of the dead king, digging out the side chambers first, removing the bones of the attendants buried alongside their ruler. They were there for their champion as he played the great Ballgame with the Lords of the Dead.

"Okay, just a little more slack, Jerry!" Bob Harris waved to the biggest of their graduate students.

Jerry Collins was that rarest of birds these days, a scholar-athlete. He was an offensive lineman on the school's football team, with the makings of a fine archaeologist, if only he could stay out of the Pro draft long enough to finish his dissertation on late Maya temple architecture.

The two men slid the straps under the stone lid, using guide strings to keep the straps from disturbing the contents of the grave. This was dangerous work. They didn't want the graduate students injured raising the lid out of the shaft, so the project leaders had taken this final responsibility themselves.

"There's that smell again, Steve. Like blood."

Steve Waters looked over at his colleague as they adjusted for a final fit, then tightened the lifting straps. "You just put too much faith in the Maya legends, Bob. I don't smell anything. There's no way there could be fresh blood anywhere down here. Okay, Jerry, pull'er up!"

The great stone plate lifted, slowly at first, only a few inches, then more rapidly. The power wench on the scaffolding erected above the pit was more effective as the added weight of the coiled chains on the wench counterbalanced the force of gravity on the tomb cover. But the recent rains, signaling a late end to the Canicula, had made the ground soft. Soil slipped under the additional load as the plate was halfway up the shaft.

Jerry stopped the motor. "Doctor Harris, are you still there?"

"Yes, Jerry, it's not as bad as it sounds. The walls of the pit should hold. Keep lifting!"

The motor whined as Jerry started the wench up again.

Bob Harris felt his face flush with excitement once he had a clear view of the contents of the sarcophagus. It was intact. A mosaic mask of jade, shell, and obsidian lay on Ux Balam's face. The face was not real, but a clay mask placed on the skull so the King's features would live on after his death. Jade glowed in the light from the king's collar, hands, waist and feet, indicating his divine status.

Excited, the two archaeologists stepped into the tomb. Neither of them heard the soil finally give way, or the plate falling, down, down, until it rested, intact, where it had been for over a millennium.

-o-0-o-

Jerry Collins was the first down the ladder, but the other students were right on his heels, or, more accurately, his hands. They worked quickly, prying up the slab, sliding it over, then tipping it against the wall. He had not seen limbs sticking out of the grave as he descended, so he hoped they were alive, but unconscious.

Once the lid was out of the way, the students were dumbfounded. Only the jade-covered bones of the long-dead Maya king were in the grave.

-o-0-o-

Maya Lands Resort  
Ciudad del Carmen  
Saturday, 7:30 pm

As the dessert plates were cleared away, Caroline Mulder leaned back from the table. _I have stuffed myself. Fox must think his mother is a pig._ Her son had been quiet at dinner, probably lost in his thoughts, again. Margaret had warned her that he could enter an almost trance, with very little warning. But not tonight.

He lifted his face toward her, then sighed, having run out of safe conversational topics. _Well, Scully, I'll take your suggestion._ "Mom?"

"Yes, Fox?"

"Would you tell me some of the things you remember of Vienna before the war?" When her face lit, he settled back to listen. _Thanks, Scully._

"Oh, son. I wish you could have seen the lights for New Year's Eve in 1935." The back of the wicker chair creaked as she lifted one hand to rest on the table, tapping along to the waltz she could still hear in her head. "That was the year your uncle Isaac and I met Richard Strauss. What an insane old man! He danced with me, a fifteen year old girl, but he nearly had a heart attack trying to play the gallant." Her eyes were far away.

As she went on, Fox Mulder heard stories of people long dead, synagogues that no longer existed, and houses full of warmth and laughter. The Podhowitzes had been wealthy merchants in the brief period between the wars. Their home had been full of friends, artists, and musicians who flocked to the city of Klimt, Mozart, and Haydn. Not like the cold, silent house in Massachusetts that he remembered, especially after Sam was taken. Mulder let his mother's words flow over him, connecting him to his past.

_I should have done this sooner._ The thought occurred simultaneously to both of them. But, each had been trapped in their respective hells then. The little girl who was gone was the keeper of the keys that would free them both, when she was returned.

However, each had a shaft of light into their torments that had allowed them to take these first steps, shafts of light named Scully. Margaret Scully had helped Caroline understand that she need not spend the rest of her life alone.

Dana Scully had given Caroline's son back a part of his soul. She had taught him the importance of listening to someone else, rather than always trying to take the floor, be the center of attention. When she would argue with him, or, as he had dreaded early in their partnership, explain complex technical points to him, he no longer interrupted her with a jest. Or cut her off with a glare. Once he understood that she saw communication as connection, rather than competition, he began to discover facets of his partner he never knew existed. Just as he was learning with his mother now.

"Your great-uncle Daniel's house was five stories. During the summer, it was always full of people." She stopped for a drink of water.

"Mom?"

She looked over at her son, observing the all too familiar haunted, hollow cast to his face. _Did they do that to you too, when I couldn't watch out for you, Fox?_

"Why didn't you ever go back? I mean after the war?"

She looked down at her hand, now motionless on the table. "Your father said it wasn't safe, and that we couldn't afford for me to go. The government would pay his way, but I..."

He frowned. "But you had money of your own, Mom. You worked with Dad during the war before you were married..." He stopped, puzzled at the horror on her face.

"Fox! How did you know I worked with your father?"

"Dad told me. Last year." He leaned over to rest his hand on hers. "Mom? what's wrong?"

She was shaking, almost at the point of tears. "Fox, promise me something."

He nodded.

She was gripping his hand as if she were about to be carried away in a gale. "Promise me that you'll never, ever, tell anyone that you know I worked with your Father. Please, son. Promise!"

_More secrets._ "Sure, Mom, whatever. I promise. Okay?"

She nodded, finally, then released his hand. _I made a deal with a devil, Fox. Please forgive me._ "Fox?"

"Yes?"

"I think I'd like to go up to my room. We'll be getting started early, and I need to take care of a few things."

_Just like that, the walls slam back into place._ Mulder stood to escort his mother to her suite, fearing he would never understand her.

-o-0-o-

Xibalba  
No place  
No time

Ux Balam heard the Shaman calling him, but he was concentrating on the game. _Wait._

Itzam-Balam, his opponent, the Shield-Jaguar, had just struck a good blow to the great ball. It bounced off one of the side walls, forcing Ux Balam to slide to get his hip under the ball to keep it in the air. He sent it against the far wall, past the Spirit who was the way of the Kings of Seibal, then out of the Court. Another score.

Now, to the message he had for the Shaman. _Leave this place._ But, he could say no more, since Itzam-Yeh had called for the game to begin again, so he had to focus.

His people on the stone benches called encouragement, as well they should. He, Ux Balam, had been captured in battle by the king of Dos Pilas, with his warriors. Normally, they would have been sacrificed to the gods, but he had played the Game of Death with his rival king, which he had won, even after a week of fasting in forced confinement. That had earned his freedom, as well as the freedom of all his men.

-o-0-o-

Ux Balam scored again. The Lords of the Otherworld never tired, but he was the shade of a mortal man. He did not know how long he had played the game, only that while he did, his people would be safe. So, he continued, never forgetting he was a great king.

Then, to the surprise of the assembled spirits and deities, Itzam-Yeh called an end to the game. "New players!"

Ux Balam turned to the Great Lord. _What did he mean?_ He saw two men approach the court, their faces pale with fear. No, the paleness was all over their bodies; they had flat noses, not the strong features of his people. He walked over to them, they touched, then he passed his secrets to them. _Watch the left corner by the water pool. The ball will bounce straight back, not forward._

In no time, speaking as between shades, he told them the strengths of his opponents, as well as their weaknesses. They told him who they were, where they were from, how much time had passed since Ux Balam had descended to Xibalba.

_It is almost the end of the present Creation! How could the game have been that long?_ He needed to speak with the Shaman who had called to him.

-o-0-o-

Maya Village  
Chiapas, Mexico  
Sunday, August 25, 1996  
Maya Long Count Calendar 12/19/2/9/8  
Sundown

In the center of a circle of alternating white stones and red maize kernels, Peter Torres placed the stingray spine. He wanted to speak to the ancestor who had called out the warning to him, but the rituals he had learned would not work. The missing archaeologists had showed him these older rites, ones the ancestor knew and had used. He wanted to try them, to see if they would open him to the way of the Otherworld, but not to the way of the kings. He would touch the spine to his tongue, hoping to draw enough blood to dissolve the boundaries between matter and the spirits. After finishing his incantations, he lifted the sacred guide high over his head, then plunged it down. As he swayed in prayer, the spirit world appeared. He faced Ux Balam. "Great ancestor! Speak to me!"

The shade of the king nodded, the parrot feathers in his headdress exaggerating the movement. "Holy man, hear my words."

The shaman concentrated on the shade before him.

"The earth will shake; my people must be protected. Have them leave the mountain, and go into the Mother-forest." The king looked down at the shaman's body, fallen to the ground. "K'awil, it is time for your helpers to take you back. You should have fasted and prayed more before starting down this path."

"Mighty king, I have no helpers."

Ux Balam stepped back, deep in sorrow. "It is so late in Time. You and your people do not know the full ritual. You only know some of this, and only what the two pale men told you. How could you have started what you could not finish?" He touched the Shaman's shade. "This will help you in Xibalba. Play well, K'awil. I must go and help my people, somehow."

-o-0-o-

Along the Usumacinta River  
Chiapas, Mexico  
Monday, August 26, 1996  
Maya Long Count Calendar 12/19/2/9/9  
5:30 pm

The two Mulders were stretched out on sun bleached wooden deck chairs, enjoying the cooling river breezes. Mulder was barefoot, wearing a black tank top and a pair of khaki Dockers shorts. Caroline, in contrast, had donned a broad-brimmed floppy green hat, a brightly colored cotton dress, and white sandals. They were on the flat roof of a riverboat, surrounded by rows of other vacationers, all out in the fine clear weather. It was supposed to rain on Tuesday, but be dry for the trip to Palenque.

"Excuse me, I couldn't help but overhear your stories to your son last night."

Caroline Mulder opened her eyes. The stout woman of middling height bending over them was white-haired, like herself, but the wrinkles on her face were deep lines around her mouth. Caroline's were on her forehead and around her eyes, not from laughing as much as this woman obviously had.

Mother and son focused on her.

The woman extended her hand. "I'm Miriam Jenkins. That's my husband, Benjamin, over there." She pointed at a bald wiry man with sparkling eyes, who waved at his wife. "Are you Jacob and Deborah Podhowitz's daughter?"

_Who would know my parents here?_ "Yes, I am." Caroline sat up, intrigued. "Are you from Austria yourselves?"

Mulder half-listened to the conversation. His mother had resumed telling him about Vienna in the morning after they had boarded the flat river boat. _As if the outburst that ended the evening never happened, Mom._ His head was swimming with stories of parties, concerts, Bar and Bat Mitzvahs, trips to operas conducted by Bruno Walter. It was no wonder his mother had been so quiet in Chilmark. After having a life like that stripped away by the horror of war, she must have spent years in deep depression. _And you thought you had it bad, Mulder._

"Oh, yes. I remember that house of your Uncle's." She turned to Mulder. "Before we two old ladies start boring you again, young man, I must remember my manners and ask. My husband is a real estate agent. What do you do?"

Mulder sat up, considering. Two trains of thought were running in his head: _Do I tell the truth, or just give her the highlights?_ and _Well, at least she didn't ask why a nice Jewish boy like me isn't married yet._ He extended his hand for her to shake, which she did. "I'm a Federal Agent, Ma'am. I work for the FBI."

Miriam's eyes widened. "Doesn't the FBI require a college degree to join?"

He shrugged. _Might as well tell her what she wants to know._ "I have a degree in Psychology from Oxford University. I used my training to do profiles of serial killers. Now I investigate cases that are of a unique or exceptional nature." Miriam was inspecting him closely, noting the scars on his shoulder and legs, until it was more than he could take. He swung his feet off the lounge. "Would either of you ladies like something to drink before dinner?"

They were due to pull ashore in an hour at a small resort, where they would take the evening meal, then spend the night.

Caroline understood her son's need for privacy. "Why, yes, Fox. A small glass of white wine would be lovely. Miriam?"

"No, I'm fine, thanks."

Mulder stood to walk to the stairs down to the bar on the lower level of the boat.

Miriam Jenkins watched him go. "He's a fine young man. But Fox?"

Caroline shook her head. "That was his father's choice. I was so happy to have him at forty I almost didn't care what we named him. It should have been for his great-uncle Daniel. They share the same long body and graceful hands." Caroline smiled at Miriam. "I left Vienna in 1941. When did you get out?"

Miriam's face darkened. "We almost didn't. We were on the train with your family. But there was a fire in our car, and we escaped into Switzerland with only the clothes on our backs. We had friends in North Carolina who acted as our sponsors so we could emigrate to America."

Mulder returned with the wine for Caroline. "Mom?"

She took a sip, then smiled up at him. "Yes, Fox?"

"I need to go make a phone call. I'll be back, okay?"

She nodded her consent.

Walking quickly to the front of the boat, he took the stairs off the upper deck two at a time.

Miriam used the distraction to change the topic of conversation to a more pleasant subject than the dark days before the war. "I noticed he wasn't wearing a ring. Is he...?"

Caroline laughed, remembering many similar conversations. "No, he's not married. Never has been. He had one serious relationship at Oxford, then nothing, as far as I can tell." She thought of Dana Scully. "He works with a wonderful Catholic woman at the FBI. She's a medical doctor, a pathologist. They seem to adore each other, but I have been told, more times than I care to count, that they are *just* *partners*."

The two women rolled their eyes. _Children!_

"Well, in that case, Caroline, you should have him meet my cousin Esther's girl..."

-o-0-o-

Basement  
J. Edgar Hoover Building  
Monday, 3:30 pm

Scully stood in the center of the basement office she shared with Mulder. He had been gone two working days on vacation with his mother. With no autopsies or open X-Files cases to handle, she was contemplating reorganizing the office in Mulder's absence.

She hated his filing system. _What filing system?_ With his photographic memory, all he needed to do was read something once, then lay it aside. She had long since adjusted to riffling through the stacks of paper on his desk, ignoring those magazines of his when they turned up. But, now that they were working with Walter Skinner on a semi-regular basis, they had to be more organized.

_Four days with no calls in the middle of the night._ She had, as she promised her partner she would, asked her mother about the trip. The two Scully women, upon comparing stories, realized that Caroline Mulder and her son were terrified of this week, but too proud discuss the problem with each other.

Her grand plan for chronological filing and alphabetical color codings on locations, victim's names, and perpetrator's identities was disrupted by the phone ringing. She crossed back to her desk to answer it.

"Scully." She was surprised, disappointed, and pleased, all at once, by the voice from the phone.

"Hey partner, catch any mutant alien killers without me?"

"Mulder! Are you okay? Is your Mom all right?" She sat down, hoping it wasn't bad news.

"Yeah, we're fine. I just wanted to keep in touch. You rearranging the office or something forbidden like that?"

_How did he know?_ "Thinking about it. Gloria swears words my father didn't even know every time Director Skinner sends her down to find something here." She could hear glass clinking in the background. "Where are you calling from, a kitchen?"

"No, more like a bar. We're cruising up the Usumacinta River to see the ruins at Palenque on Wednesday." He leaned against the booth, before dropping his voice. "She's found someone who knew her family back in Austria. Thanks to you, partner, I've heard more about lovely Vienna than I ever thought I needed to know." He tried to send his gratitude to her in the lightness of his voice. "I had to leave. I was being cased as husband material, Scully."

They both smiled. As long-time singles, each had endured their share of 'I have a wonderful cousin who is just dying to meet someone like you' discussions.

"Mulder?"

"Yeah?"

"How are you doing, really?"

The relaxed tone disappeared, then the serious thinker who was her partner emerged. "She knows something about the war. I think she knows some of the stuff we found out. She's scared." He fell silent, unwilling to risk any information over the phone.

_We'll talk about it when you get back._ She silently promised them both.

He sighed, wishing his partner and Margaret Scully come along on this trip, so he wouldn't feel like he had to be on his best behavior all the time. Despite her outward shows of stoic patience, he knew Scully enjoyed their banter, that Margaret would look on whatever he did with fondness. _But my own Mother?_ After Sam was taken, none of them had much to say to the other, that he wanted to remember, anyway.

Squinting at the reflections off the water, he answered her question. "But other than that, fine, actually. We saw some river porpoises yesterday. It's been kind of nice, not having to worry about ducking bullets, handling hostage negotiations, or being possessed by ghosts for a few days. But I wouldn't want to make a habit of this lifestyle. I'd go soft in a month if I wasn't constantly arguing with a certain stubborn red-headed doctor I know."

_Miss you, too._ "Mulder, this must be costing you a fortune. Either give me your number there and let me call you back, or go talk to your Mom."

"Ah, they're probably naming the grandkids right now." He scuffed his foot lightly on the carpet.

"Well, if you weren't such prime husband material..."

He frowned as the voice on the line was drowned out by a waiter shouting an order by his elbow, then smirked. "You offering to take me off the market?"

"Mulder! Go rescue your mother!"

They smiled, then hung up.

Scully looked at the piles of paper. _Now, should I color code for type of crime as well?_

Mulder walked back to the stairs, shaking his head. _I'll never find anything important if she cleans up my desk._

-o-0-o-

American Embassy  
Villa Hermosa, Mexico  
Tuesday, August 27, 1996  
Maya Long Count Calendar 12/19/2/9/10  
11:45 am

"Come in, it's open." CIA Special Operative Tom Rubins put down the file on the Zapatista rebels he was reviewing.

His secretary, Maria Santina, poked her head in the door, smiling quickly at the tall agent, whose brown hair was just a bit too long for regulations. Not that this small embassy concerned itself much with the rules, otherwise, she, as Tom's sister-in-law, would never have been hired.

Tom smiled back, constantly amazed that two women of such different personalities as his wife and Maria were so alike, both so petite they were often mistaken for children. This sister's black hair almost touched the floor when she bent over, as she was now, as she often did when chatting busily with the other Mexicans here. His serious artist-wife, Greta, usually kept hers tied back or up on her head, to keep it out of her oils.

"That group of graduate students from the Seibal dig is here, Tom. Shall I send them in?"

"Sure, Maria."

She stepped back to close the door.

"Oh, and Maria?"

The hair flipped in before the head reappeared.

"Hold my calls, if you please." He slipped the folders with the CIA logo back in his upper left drawer. There was no need to spook these poor kids. If the rumor circulating in the building was true, then they had seen quite enough in the past week.

Five young men and women, looking worn and dirty, filed into his office. They had emerged out of the forest this morning with a tale of disappearing professors. He needed to get the story straight from their mouths, before the shock wore off, before they were turned over to their anxious parents back in Texas. He busied himself with arranging seats for them all by removing the chairs from around his small, cluttered conference table to line them up in front of his desk. When they were settled, filling the tiny office, they looked to the robust young man in the center.

"Mr. Rubins, I'm Jerry Collins." As the others introduced themselves, Rubins nodded a greeting to each. "I was told by the ambassador that you need to hear our story in full detail, so let me begin."

_No nonsense, this one._ Tom Rubins liked directness, so he waved his assent.

"It all started when we finally cleared off the roof over Ux Balam's tomb and Doctor Harris called in the Shaman..."

-o-0-o-

Tom Rubins sat alone in his office, thinking. He had initially attributed the disappearance of the archaeologists to an attack by the Zapatistas, who might have considered the dig desecration of an ancestor's grave. Now, after hearing the students' story, he wasn't so sure. When added to the apparent suicide of the same Shaman involved in the Seibal dig, something just wasn't right.

_That suicide. Why would someone commit suicide by puncturing their own tongue, then lying on the floor until he bled to death? Could a person even die that way?_ He cast about in his mind for a name. Yes, that was it, Mulder, the FBI agent who had been involved in a scandal back in March. He remembered the whole matter blowing up very quickly, then disappearing from the news during the week he was in DC reporting to headquarters. _What were those strange cases named? X-Files, that was it. If anything was an 'X-File', this was._

He wanted to contact headquarters in DC, but whom? _Oh yeah, Stu._ Stuart Peters still had copies of Mulder's 'recreational viewing matter.' Stu, his old college buddy, could fill him in on the scuttlebutt behind the headlines, so he punched in a familiar number.

-o-0-o-

Along the Usumacinta River  
Chiapas, Mexico  
Tuesday, 1:30 pm

Miriam Jenkins fanned herself. "You know, Caroline, if you really want to find out what happened to your parents, you should talk to Max. He was there, poor man."

Mulder listened intently, though his eyes were half-closed. _Finally, a clue._

The expected rains were falling in sheets, so the tourists had gathered on the main level of the boat. The largest portion of this deck was a dining room with a dozen or so brightly painted wooden tables, cluttered with chairs. As seemed typical, the air conditioner was sporadic, at best. Caroline Mulder and her son, lean people both, had no trouble with the humidity, but Miriam's rounded shoulders were glistening with perspiration.

Caroline leaned forward. "Do you have an address, or phone number for him?"

Benjamin chuckled. "Won't need one. See that fellow over there, staring out at the rain?" He pointed to a tall spare white-haired man with a bushy white mustache. "That's Max Lowenberg. He was liberated from Dachau by the Allies. He lives in Miami, now, where we met him when we relocated in March of 1995."

Benjamin turned to Mulder, who had tuned in to the discussion about Max, before he continued. "We had to get out of Manhattan after the blizzards swept up the coast. He's a wonderful fellow, if a little morose for my taste." Benjamin looked back to the two women. "He'd love a visit with you, Caroline. Didn't have any real friends between the time his wife died in 1991 and when we struck up a conversation at the cinema."

Miriam took Caroline's hand. "Let me introduce you."

The two women walked over to the man, who was sitting by himself at a small table.

Benjamin saw a smirk pass briefly over Mulder's face. "Yes, young man. My wife is an inveterate matchmaker. Mark my words, if you don't get busy yourself, she'll have six eligible girls lined up for you by Thanksgiving."

Mulder let out a snort.

But her mother's new friend had sobered. "You're the FBI agent with those D'Amato papers, aren't you?"

The hunter in Mulder snapped to attention, so he sat up, focusing on the little man's face. "Yes, sir, I am. How do you know about them?"

Benjamin smiled back. "The Internet isn't the province of only the young, you know. Did you know that the Mafia route through Italy was supposed to move our people out of Europe to Palestine?"

The younger man was absolutely still, poised on the edge of his chair.

"I thought not. But very few of them got out that way. Thanks to you and your partner, now we know why." He looked up as his wife returned. "We'll talk later, son."

Mulder caught Benjamin's mischievous wink in his direction as Miriam sat beside her husband.

She slid the chair in. "Now, Fox Mulder, FBI Agent, I can talk to you without your mother around to protect you. I noticed you aren't married, and my cousin Jerry has a lovely daughter..."

Benjamin's amusement doubled as the hunter turned into the hunted at the blink of an eye.

-o-0-o-

Max Lowenberg regarded Caroline Mulder cautiously. _She has so much hope, but all I can say will bring her pain. And she is so lovely._

Caroline touched the numbers tattooed on his arm. "I won't ask if my parents survived the camp. I've been to the Holocaust Museum in DC. I saw their pictures. I know they are gone. But my brother, Isaac, he was not there in the faces. Did you see him? When did he die?"

Max appeared hypnotized by a narrow stream of rainwater flowing off the overhanging upper deck. _This poor woman. Should I tell her? She has suffered so much._ Resigned, he focused on her, relieved to see not hope, just curiosity, in her features. "He didn't. We had to share a bed, you know. I hid him when they came for your parents." He covered her hand with his own. "He was one of those liberated with me. He said he was going to Russia to try to find your uncle Daniel." He bent down to look into her face, seeing the silent tears. "He knew you were safe, and he had to try to find the rest of your family. Did he never contact you?"

She shook her head, afraid to speak. _Unless he tried through Bill._ But right now, she believed the one by whom she had two children was almost as much of a monster as the Smoking Man in the dark room.

"Mom?" Her son's hand was on her shoulder, Mulder having used her distress as an escape from Miriam. "You okay?"

She shook her head, needing to be alone for a few minutes. But, first. "Thank you, Mr. Lowenberg. You are a good man." She squeezed his hand in gratitude.

"Please, call me Max."

Mulder looked up at his face, then at his mother's bowed head.

"Fox?"

"Yes?"

"I'd like to step outside for a little bit."

"But, Mom, the rain."

Standing to contain the younger man, Max took his arm. "Let her go, son."

Caroline left, hovering just outside the door, but not in the full downpour.

Mulder spun on his heel, his eyes blazing. "What did you tell her?" His voice was a low growl.

Max shook his head.

-o-0-o-

J. Edgar Hoover Building  
Washington, DC  
Wednesday, August 28, 1996  
Maya Long Count Calendar 12/19/2/9/11  
3:30 pm

Walter Skinner took off his glasses to pinch the bridge of his nose as the two CIA agents seated across from him waited. He replaced his wire rims, then punched in the number for the basement. When the call was answered on the third ring, he kept his voice level. "Agent Scully, I'd like to see you in my office immediately, please." _She must have been buried under paper for her to take so long to get to the phone._

Tom Rubins and Stuart Peters exchanged significant glances. Finally, they were meeting the famous Doctor Dana Scully, one of the pair of FBI agents whose yellowed newspaper photos still dotted CIA headquarters.

Skinner caught the exchange, as well as the slight smirk on Peters' face. _So that's how they knew to come here. I'll bet Scully knocks those stupid grins right off their faces the first time she opens her mouth._

-o-0-o-

Smoothing the wrinkles out of her skirt, then pulling down on her suit jacket, Scully prepared to enter the inner door to Skinner's office. She had been sorting files on the floor when Skinner had called, trying to decide whether Eugene Victor Tooms belonged under mentally deranged mass murderers or genetically manipulated mutants.

AD Skinner rose to his feet when she entered, sweeping his arm towards his visitors to initiate the introductions. "Agent Scully, these are Agents Rubins and Peters from the Central Intelligence Agency."

She shook hands with the two men, then sat in a third chair. "How can the FBI help you, gentlemen?" Dana Scully listened while Tom Rubins relayed the details of the past few days to her. When he finished, she looked from one to the other. "And you think there is some connection between the two events?"

Rubins nodded.

She leaned back in her seat, working through possibilities before pursuing the matter further. Once Scully had her thoughts composed, she straightened, prepared to respond as one of the FBI's best and brightest. "I agree, the death of the Maya Shaman is strange, but the punctured tongue isn't. Scholarly research over the past thirty years has revealed much about the ancient Maya way of life. The kings and their families often punctured various parts of their anatomies to release blood. They believed it helped them achieve a trance state so they could 'pass to the other side', as it were. It might be that Peter Torres heard of the ritual from the archaeologists and decided to try it for himself. His death simply may be an unfortunate accident." She shrugged at the astonished CIA agents.

Walter Skinner smiled at his guests' discomfort. _Gotcha, boys._ Over the past few months, he had watched Dana Scully devastate rooms of officers with similar reasoning, occasionally turning the tables on her partner.

Scully looked over to the empty chair beside hers. _Too, bad, Mulder. You would be enjoying twitting these guys with some crazy idea of yours._ Ready to speak again, she tapped the arm of her chair. "You say that it had just rained the day before the professors disappeared, and that the students left almost immediately to get help?"

Peters responded affirmatively.

"They may have been buried under the floor of the grave by mud, although that's unlikely. Someone should probably go back to the dig site and check it out."

Agent Rubins smiled, beginning to like this woman, who seemed rational, down to earth. She was someone he could work with, totally unlike the reputation she had acquired. "Well, Agent Scully, that's more or less what I was hoping you would say."

Walter Skinner decided to intervene. This wasn't an FBI matter. It smelled distinctly of trouble. A specific smell, if he thought about it. "Gentlemen, would you step outside for a moment, please?"

As the CIA agents exited, they closed the door behind them quietly.

Skinner walked around to sit on the front of his desk. "Agent Scully, you realize you would be operating outside the scope of the FBI's jurisdiction once you leave the country?

"Yes, I do, Sir."

Their eyes locked, both well aware that the Smoking Man was looking for an opportunity to set the X-Files up for failure or worse. Suspicious that Skinner's office was bugged, they would not speak of such matters here.

"But, Sir, I don't think this has anything to do with our other problems. And I don't think the archaeologists' disappearance was a simple matter of mistaken loss by shocked graduate students, either. There's something going on. I'd like to check it out."

Skinner stood over her. "Do you know how to get in touch with Agent Mulder, Scully?" _Or should I come with you?_

She nodded. "He left me an itinerary, Sir. Today he is visiting the ruins at Palenque, and he said to call if anything came up."

Assistant Director Skinner knew he had done more than that. He remembered the tall man standing in his office last Thursday, looking like he was a six year old, wanting a favor from his older brother.

-o-0-o-

"Yes, Agent Mulder?" Skinner had been filling out evaluation forms when Mulder walked in, unbidden and unexpected. "I thought you were leaving to meet your Mother an hour ago."

The younger man had been staring at his feet, then began quietly, without looking up. "About Agent Scully, Sir."

Skinner had leaned back in his chair. "Yes?"

The the tenor had dropped even softer. "Don't let her work too hard while I'm gone."

The two men had locked eyes.

"Will that be all, Agent Mulder?"

The tall agent had nodded, then left.

-o-0-o-

"Besides, Sir-" Her words interrupted his reverie. "-if I know Agent Mulder, he's heard about this through some strange channel he knows, and is already on the case, in one way or another." She smiled at her AD, who returned the expression.

He had come to appreciate how strange Agent Mulder's channels were when he visited the Lone Gunmen's office in June. _Kojak. The long-haired one kept calling me Kojak._ "Very well, Agent Scully. Contact Agent Mulder if you can and prepare to fly down with Agent Rubins tomorrow."

She rose to let the CIA men back in.

"Oh, and watch yourself. The place is crawling with Zapatista rebels. I'm surprised they're still running tour groups around down there."

-o-0-o-

Dana Scully quickly assembled the papers on the floor in their original order, then refiled them according to Mulder's 'system'. _Well, Dana, you lose. Time to go to work._ When she was finished, she looked around the room. It looked as if nothing had changed after all her hard work and planning.

Scully wondered if he would notice if she had misplaced a few papers, finding herself hoping he would, so she could tease him about his habits. Her partner had been gone for six days, during which she had stopped herself several times before she began speaking to his unoccupied desk.

-o-0-o-

End - Xibalba - Part I Conjuring the Way

26


	2. Raised-Up-Sky

=====o=====================================================o=====

_Xibalba_ by Mary Ruth Keller

Part II - _Raised-up-Sky_

=====o=====================================================o=====

Palenque Ruins  
Chiapas, Mexico  
Wednesday, August 28, 1996  
Maya Long Count Calendar 12/19/2/9/11  
5:30 pm

Fox Mulder was indeed, pursuing the case, his own case, as it turned out. He had escorted his mother and her new friends up and down the various temples and processional ways. They had wandered through Palaces and the Ball Court, until they reached the Temple of Inscriptions, housing the tomb of the Great King, Pacal. Descending the vaulted stair in pairs, the tourists viewed the spectacularly carved sarcophagus lid.

_So that's what von Daniken was talking about._ He peered at the detailed work intently, then shook his head. Perhaps his skeptical partner was beginning to rub off on him, but this didn't look like an astronaut in a spaceship, even to his eyes.

Their guide, a tiny woman in her fifties with a Texas twang, was pointing out various religious aspects of the position of the king's body. "Since you asked-" She checked his nametag. "-Mr. Mulder, I'll explain these symbols to you."

First, she pointed to Pacal's hands and feet. "See how limp the limbs are? This shows the King at the moment of death falling into the underworld, which is opening up below him, as indicated by the stylized jaws of the Maw of Xibalba, here, and here."

Her short arms swept out a cross over the lid. "The King is falling along the Wacah Chan, the World Tree. He was both its earthly representative, and the one who climbed up and down its trunk in visions, to reach the Underworld."

"You said trees, like the rubber tree, were very important for their culture and trade?" Caroline looked to the woman, who smiled brightly in response.

"Yes, Caroline." The guide checked her nametag as well. _Hum, must be related._ "Tree roots reach deep down into the earth, which the Maya saw as symbolizing the connection to the world below. Sitting at the top of the tree is the Celestial Bird, Itzam-Yeh, representing nature tamed by the Maya for their use. Itzam-Yeh was also their name for the constellation we know as the Big Dipper."

She pointed to the figures carved on the raised sides of the tomb, barely visible in the narrow passage. "These are Pacal's immediate predecessors. Each sits in front of another tree, symbolizing their semi-divine status." She glanced over her shoulder at the pair, noting the resemblances. _Must be mother and son. They'll enjoy the rest of the story._

"Pacal inherited the throne, not from his male ancestors, but through his mother and great-grandmother, the Ladies Zac-Kuk and Kanal-Ikal, respectively. Each is honored by being carved twice on the sides of the tomb." She pointed to four figures. "It was unusual, to say the least, for a dynasty to pass through two women successively. They must have been extraordinarily gifted and forceful. We even have a stela showing Zac-Kuk bestowing the symbols of kingship on Pacal."

The quiet woman and her intense son glanced at each other.

The guide smiled to herself. _They did enjoy that._

Mulder thought, again, of his partner, who with her strong will and sharp intellect would have been a powerful queen in any culture.

The guide pointed out the chamber where the sacrificial victims had lain, the stepped approach to the grave, and other aspects of the tomb before escorting them back up the stairs.

-o-0-o-

Office Building  
Manhattan Island  
Thursday, August 29, 1996  
Maya Long Count Calendar 12/19/2/9/12  
8:05 pm

The mannered white-haired man rapped the table-top with his knuckles, the fine furnishings surrounding him as elegant as his apparel. From his seat in this Georgian armchair, he could reach a Wedgewood teacup perched in its saucer, next to a matching teapot, all resting on Battenberg lace. His assistant bustled in, pouring Devon cream from a sterling pitcher into the cup, then adding steaming Darjeeling.

The younger man stopped to cast his eyes over the walnut table and chairs, eventually spotting the honey in a Waterford decanter on the sideboard. Lifting the crystal, he checked for a ring, knowing the man in the chair trimming his nails was inordinately proud of his Frank Lloyd Wright original. Finished, he offered the cup and saucer to the man in the chair, who accepted it.

"Thank you. Please close the east drapes on your way out." The accent was British, refined. The assistant obeyed in both particulars, departing in silence. The sun had been bothering his eyes of late, but for one of his advanced years, that was almost to be expected. He sipped the tea, evaluating various options.

Both of the X-Files agents were in Mexico now, pursuing a meaningless case best left to internal security. This Mulder was only interested in his narrowly defined Truth, intensely focused on a side-line of the Committee's activities. But the man would move heaven and earth if he thought they stood in his way, or die in the attempt. His partner would move the same cosmic obstacles to rescue him, if she could. His associate in Washington kept assuring him that Walter Skinner's presence in the field with the partners would be a disruptive influence on their recently repaired relationship. Once his strategy was pursued to its logical conclusion, they would be vulnerable to attack, more amenable to surrendering the D'Amato notebooks.

_Those papers._ He waved his hand, attempting to dismiss them as he had his assistant. They were of interest only to historians now, but the mere fact they had been taken, then published on the Web, diminished the Consortium's standing in the eyes of the other shadow powers. The destruction that would be unleashed if the delicate balance between the secret forces in the world was significantly shifted was incalculable. No, his opinion remained firm, that, despite his chain-smoking associate's objections, the X-Files agents should be terminated with all possible speed. That action, only, would restore his group's prestige. With the situation in hand, the shadow powers could leave off this petty bickering to return to thwarting the enemy they all shared.

While in the States, they were shielded from attack by certain powerful people in the government, including, it seemed, his old colleague who loved the dark. He had considered him the most loyal of operatives, extending to him his broadest discretion, but of late, he was subtly protecting the pair. It was as if the promise he had so rashly made to an old friend years ago was weighing heavily on what little he had left of his conscience.

_Or was it something new that troubled my aging representative?_ In any case, this was a time to act, to grasp the opportunity fate had provided, before the shadow powers to the South became aware of the uses of Mulder and Scully. He would bypass his Washington agent to act himself, knowing the full Group would concur with his actions.

-o-0-o-

Maya Lands Resort  
Ciudad del Carmen  
Friday, August 30, 1996  
Maya Long Count Calendar 12/19/2/9/11  
8:30 am

Mulder was bored, but not just mildly, pleasantly, lethargically bored. He was *monumentally* bored, itching to get back to his basement office to investigate a good case of alien abduction or unexplained death. His mother and Max Lowenberg had chatted for most of Thursday, while the cruise boat navigated downriver, faster with the current than against it. Dodging Miriam Jenkins with her thousands of unmarried cousins had consumed his morning, but she finally caught him to begin hounding him with their various virtues. Now everyone had gathered for breakfast on the last day of the 'vacation.'

Several frantic calls to his partner had reached only answering machines. _Where are you, Scully? Have you gone off on a case with Skinner?_ He had acquired new respect for the Assistant Director since working with him one on one in the field. Without stepping on toes, as he so often did, his superior could cut to the heart of an investigation quickly. _That's diplomacy._

He glanced to his left, where his mother was wrapped up talking with Max. To his right was Benjamin Jenkins, who had remained silent since their brief discussion on Tuesday. Now he knew why. Miriam filled any silence with words, leading Mulder to speculate whether the man had completed a sentence in her presence in the last twenty years. She, however, had found a new victim, one of the other passengers, a slight, stooped woman from Ohio.

Benjamin turned to the younger man. "Fox, don't be too hard on your mother. From what she's told me, she could use a male friend. She and your father were divorced?"

Mulder shook his head. "Just separated. My father and my mother couldn't bear the thought of making their differences public, so they agreed to live apart."

Benjamin nodded. _It must have been difficult for this son, forever shuttled between two silent houses, not belonging to either one. So different from the lively Podhowitz homes or even mine and Miriam's._ He felt for Fox Mulder. "And with the problem of your sister's disappearance, your family would never be whole."

Mulder studied his plate. _Was it that obvious?_

Benjamin glanced at the doorway separating the dining room from the lobby, noting a face familiar to him from scanned images on the Net, then the mischief returned to his eyes. _Let's see how he reacts._ "Now, who would that be?"

Mulder followed his gaze to the red-haired woman who had just passed the maitre d'. _So that's why I couldn't reach her._ His eyes glowing, he rose to walk over to her, while Benjamin Jenkins tugged at his wife's sleeve. "Scully!" He grinned broadly. "Why are you here?"

She took his elbow, guiding him out into the lobby.

Behind him, Caroline followed Max's gaze when he touched her hand.

The white-haired man leaned over her. "I see, that's the partner you told me about. They do seem very close."

Miriam, who had observed the pair leaving as well, was now calculating . "Caroline, why, she *is* as attractive as you said, if a little thin. If they were to get married, do you think they would have any children?"

His Mother shook her head. "Dana can't have children. She had been kidnapped about two years ago, and from the injuries she sustained, she fell into a coma. She didn't find out until this past winter, but there was significant damage to her..." She looked at the men at the table, uncomfortable to speak of such things in mixed company.

But Miriam understood. "So the poor girl has thrown herself into her work?"

Caroline smiled. Dana Scully had always been more interested in her career than in marriage and a family, according to her son.

Miriam nodded. "Well, we can't let him go to waste. I'll make some calls when I get home..."

-o-0-o-

Scully touched her partner's wrist. "We have a case."

They were standing on the deck, gazing out over the river.

He turned to look down at her. "I've been dying to hear you say that. This vacation business is all well and good..."

She smiled up at him. "But you were ready to get back to work yesterday, right?"

He looked puzzled.

"I called the office machine. All the messages that were just silence, then disconnects, I figured were you. After all, once you've been married off and had kids..." Her green-blue eyes twinkled at his discomfort.

"Scully, I spent yesterday, running away from that meddling matchmaker while my Mom talked to *Max*." He frowned, thinking.

She rested her hand on his arm. "Are you saying your mother found someone on this trip?"

He nodded, not wanting to consider the possibilities. "He told her something about my uncle, Isaac. He said they were at Dachau together. I don't trust him."

_You don't trust anyone, Mulder._

"Why would he show up here, of all places?" The tall agent shook his head, then turned back to face the dining area. "So, tell me about this case." The longing in his voice was palpable.

They would talk more about his mother later, she knew, but her partner needed to get back to work. They walked over to one of the benches to sit while she filled him in.

-o-0-o-

American Embassy  
Villa Hermosa, Mexico  
Friday, 3:30 pm

Dana Scully adjusted the microphone so she could speak into it without stretching her neck. The body of Peter Torres lay before her as she was preparing to begin her autopsy. The remains had been ferried downriver on a helicopter Tuesday, to be kept in cold storage since, but decay had already set in. Mulder and the CIA agent had been happy to leave this noisome work to her. Everything in this 'morgue' was hastily arranged for her use, even the room itself, which was actually a walk-in refrigerator, unused except to store slabs of beef for the Easter and Christmas feasts. A small folding table supported the body. Two spotlights had been removed from the conference room for her. Completing her usual equipment was Maria's tape recorder, as well as a floor microphone from the cafeteria.

"This is Doctor Dana Scully, the physician of record. I am beginning this autopsy at 3:30 pm, local time, on Friday, August 30, 1996. The deceased is an Hispanic male, approximately age 38, in good physical condition, with no visible wounds..."

-o-0-o-

The students had remained at the Embassy, over their parents's vociferous objections, until the FBI agents could conduct their interviews. Mulder sat with them at Rubin's cleared conference table, listening to each of their stories, mentally comparing their words with his partner's summary of the case.

_Scully's right, something odd was happening here. Neither the ground had been saturated at the bottom of the pit, nor were the students hysterical. The professors had simply disappeared without a trace._ When the last student, a tiny blonde girl whose nose had blistered and peeled from time in the sun, stopped, he looked each of them over.

Mulder straightened from his slouch. "Well, you certainly tell quite a story. You left immediately after discovering Doctors Waters and Harris were missing?"

The leader of the group shook his head. "No, Agent Mulder." Jerry Collins remembered Mulder and Scully from the Drug Scandal, so was unwilling to fully trust the FBI agent. "We didn't just leave. We photographed everything, and took Ux Balam's bones and the mosaic and jade artifacts with us. We knew if we left those, by the time someone returned to the dig, they would be available only on the black market. We have the precious stones in the embassy safe. At least the University can sell them to recover some of the financial loss this trip will entail." He passed the photos to Mulder, who asked a few questions about the grave layout.

Mulder thought back to Palenque. _This was like Pacal's tomb. Perhaps that vacation was good for something after all._

The door to Agent Rubins' office opened, admitting his partner. Chilled from working in the 'morgue,' she was rubbing her arms.

Mulder frowned. _Must have been bad, even for her._

She caught his attention, then jerked her head to signal she wanted to talk, outside.

He nodded once. "Thank you, all, for staying. If you would excuse me for a moment."

Rubbing the back of her neck, Scully was leaning against the painted concrete blocks of the hallway when her partner joined her.

Mulder touched Scully's wrist, reminding her he was there. "What did you find?"

She glanced up at him, considering her answer. "He drowned."

"Hm?" That was the last thing he expected to hear.

"Drowned in his own blood. He had punctured his tongue in some strange attempt to recreate Maya ritual, fell unconscious on his back, his lungs filled up, and he drowned." She shrugged. "Why? Did those students give you any clues?"

One corner of his mouth turned up. "You'll like this. On the day they got the tomb roof cleared off, the students claim the Shaman heard the ancestor telling him to, and I quote, 'Wait' and 'Leave this place'."

She frowned up at him. "Mulder! That sounds like a bad science fiction movie!"

Mulder smirked. "Didn't think you were a fan of Kathy Ireland's work." Seeing the dark circles under her eyes, he sobered. _Jet lag. She hasn't had a leisurely cruise up and down tropical rivers like I have._ He rested his hand on her shoulder briefly. "Go with me for a minute, Scully. Suppose this Peter Torres thought he heard Ux Balam speak to him. Isn't it likely he would have tried to contact him again?"

She nodded, having reached a similar conclusion in Skinner's office, without knowing these specifics. "I'd like to interview the students, just to see if Torres had heard of these rituals from them. If so, then I think we can make a reasonable determination of the cause of death." She pushed herself away from the wall. "That still leaves the professors. With no evidence, I can't really deduce anything about their disappearance."

He opened the door for her, then, with a comfortable hand on the small of her back, guided her into the office.

-o-0-o-

Seibal Ruins  
Border of Mexico and Guatemala  
Friday, 6:30 pm

Ux Balam had returned to his pyramid along the way to Xibalba. It was strange, standing here, looking down on the ruins of his city. Others might have preferred the stateliness of Palenque, or the grandeur of Chichen Itza. But the temple-mountains of Seibal, all strung in a chain as were the peaks of the Middleworld, were, to their king's eyes, glorious. Looking down over the ceremonial quarter as he had so many times in life, he saw the oldest and most sacred of their holy places was no more than a slight bump under rampant greenery. His city was a part of the Otherworld now.

He remembered the market, just outside the temple area. Seibal had been a crossroads between the lowlands cities to the northwest, the eastern Maya cities, and other cultures far to the south. Goods had been exchanged from as far away as the distant desert lands to the north, where people lived in the side of a mountain, to the Amazon basin in the south and beyond. If he thought back, he could see the colorful macaws, hear the hawkers of copal and cacao, glimpse the flashing jade as it changed from hand to hand.

But the jungle had reclaimed his city. The macaws that flew over its streets were wild, a group of peccaries was trotting down the processional way. _This was the Ending of Time._ He could feel the great cycle winding down to renewal. He had been released from the Game to warn his people of impending doom, but his people were not here. Well, perhaps if they were not here, he could still summon them to him. He remembered standing here, year after year, pronouncing the good will he had wrestled from the Lords of the Underworld to the assembled throngs below.

There were warriors in the forest, still, those he could feel. Some conflict with the pale-skinned men that had driven them back to the jungle, to ways as old as they could know. But it had been the pale-skinned scribes that had taught K'awil some of the old ways. As with all rivals, then, some were honorable, some were not.

He reached out, touching the forest warriors. There were two he wanted to bring here. The blood in the veins of one was his own, if many generations removed. That one, perhaps, could lead his people into the Mother-forest for protection when the earth began to shake. The other was an untrained Adept of great ability. If his skills could be developed, then those in the Otherworld could communicate with those in the Middleworld as he had done, so long ago.

-o-0-o-

American Embassy  
Friday, 9:30 pm

Dana Scully yawned. She was leaning on the railing of the upper deck of the embassy, waiting for her partner. Her body was still on Eastern Daylight Time, so it felt like the middle of the night to her. Her partner, fully adjusted after a week here, obviously needed to talk to her. She felt, rather than heard, him come up behind her, to take a seat in one of the white deck chairs lined up along the edge of the roof.

"Scully?"

She faced him. "Hum?"

"You still with me?"

She stretched as she paced, attempting to get her blood moving. He was looking up at her, waiting patiently for an acknowledgment.

Sometimes she felt like she worked with the Energizer Bunny. She turned to him, this subject as difficult for him as it would be for her. "It's okay if your Mom wants to see someone new, you know. She's been through hell." _I can't say she won't love you any less, Mulder, since you two barely speak as it is._

His face darkened. _She's trying to be supportive._ "I know. It's just hard. What do I know about this Max Lowenberg? Is he what he says he is, a concentration camp survivor?" He stood to walk over, standing close to her. "Or is he a spy for the shadows, sent to keep me in line?"

There it was again, their constant fear for the past few months, ever since publishing the D'Amato papers on the Internet. Nearly every move they made, every case they considered, always had this factor added into it.

She had worked with Mulder long enough to know she had to steel herself against the pervasive paranoia at times. Fortunately, it was then that Walter Skinner had proven a sounding board, keeping them both from diving over the edge into total suspicion. He knew things about the Shadows, of whom the Smoking Man was their most familiar representative, things they could not press him on.

On many nights, when Mulder would descend into one of his fits of depression, she would haul him off his sofa to any one of several twenty-four hour eateries. There the three would hash out his concerns, determining if they had any basis in reality. More times than she had originally suspected, they did.

_This might be one of those, Dana._ She pulled down on his shoulder, so he bent under her touch. Standing on tiptoe, she put her mouth as close to his ear as she could when she spoke, in case the embassy deck was wiretapped. "Let's get him checked out. We'll send Skinner a message in the morning. Something innocuous, that he will understand."

Straightening up, he grasped her shoulder to squeeze it gratefully. As she gazed out at the forest below, as pensive as he, Mulder just stood beside Scully, studying her, remembering.

When Blevins had sent her to work with him, he hadn't sent a spy, just an observer. A calm, rational observer, who worked carefully through facts and fantasy before reaching conclusions she could justify six different ways. He couldn't imagine a day without her cool reason, weighing the insanity they saw. Sometimes she came to the same conclusions he did, sometimes not. His passion, counterbalanced by her logic. Under all the aliens, flukemen, psychopaths, and the Conspiracy, their interactions at times resembled something out of Austen. Or Roddenberry?

"Hey." He bumped her gently with his elbow, needing to wipe that serious look off her face. "I had to up one of my cherished alien ideas on Wednesday." _That worked._

She smiled up at him. "Oh, and which one was that, Mulder?" He leaned both forearms on the railing, staring out over the dark greenery as she had been.

"The ancient astronauts of Erik von Daniken. When I saw the cover on Pacal's tomb as the tour guide explained it, I have to admit, this new research really provides the simplest reasoning to cover all the facts."

She focused on his face. "You had a tour guide?" From his initial discussion of it, she had thought the entire trip somewhat loosely organized.

"Not intentionally. But she was there, and offered to show us around. She was some kind of expert, who loves the ruins of Palenque, and revisits them nearly every year."

His partner took a quick breath. "Was she short, with a twang in her speech?"

He nodded, turning to face her. "Why, do you know her?"

She shook her head, staring out at the jungle again. "Not know her, but know of her. It sounds like you got a tour from Linda Schele, an internationally recognized expert in this new archaeology of the Maya."

He lifted an eyebrow.

"I read several books on the subject while I was home recovering." She looked into his eyes. "Medical journals are only so exciting. And it is a fabulous, real, detective story."

Crossing his arms, he leaned his hip against the railing, preparing for one of her explanations.

"Just imagine, thirty years ago, we thought the Maya were astronomer-priests, all looking coolly at the stars, counting the years. We know they still did, but they are a vibrant culture, whose remnants still exist in these mountains today. If you think you were a fair-haired boy, partner, just listen to this. One of the outstanding readers of the Maya glyphs is a young man named David Stuart, who translated his first text at the age of eight, and gave his first conference presentation at thirteen."

Mulder chuckled. "Well, I guess that makes me an old, old man, Scully."

"But at least you finished your degree, Mulder. He's having trouble finishing his PhD at Princeton. He keeps taking time off for digs in the jungle. By the time he graduates, he'll have students born after he started college!"

They smiled together.

When she yawned again, he took the hint, so the pair left the deck to go to their respective rooms at the Embassy.

-o-0-o-

Briefing Room  
American Embassy  
Saturday, August 31, 1996  
Maya Long Count Calendar 12/19/2/9/14  
8:00 am

Mulder had sent a short wire to Skinner, using the wording Scully had suggested: 'New kid on the block. Max Lowenberg.'

Now he sat in the back, watching as his partner stood next to him, adjusting the slide projector focus. The windowless briefing room was barely large enough for the table that supported the lectern, the dozen folding chairs, and a small platform for the projector. She was preparing to deliver an overview of her autopsy results to the assembled team of CIA agents who had flown in late the previous night. She returned to the lectern to test the remote control. Satisfied, she cleared her throat.

Tom Rubins rose from his seat at the front. "Okay, people, in four hours, we go into the jungle. We need to get started here, so pipe down, Andrews."

Andrews, paunchy and balding, stopped laughing at the joke he was telling.

"This is Doctor Dana Scully from the X-Files section of the FBI. Back there, is Agent Mulder." When he pointed, Mulder half rose from his seat.

All the agents were paying attention now.

_Jeez, was it something I said? Is my shirt on backwards?_ Mulder looked up at Scully, who rolled her eyes. _Oh, that._ The fur-lined handcuffs had mysteriously reappeared in an unmarked envelope outside his door late one night, but his tapes were long gone. _Don't these guys have anything better to do?_

His partner sought to regain control of the situation. "Gentlemen, if we could."

The CIA agents faced forward.

"The events we were called in to investigate began early last month during an archaeological excavation at the ruins of Seibal..." She reviewed the case to date, then moved on to the images. "The deceased, Peter Torres, drowned in his own blood attempting to recreate an ancient Maya blood-letting ritual. He was trying to induce a trance to achieve an altered state of consciousness." She stopped to look over the assembled men.

Mulder could see a glimmer of mischief in his partner's eyes, as she prepared a return dig for the rudeness they had dished out to the FBI agents.

She took off her glasses.

He grinned. _This will be good, Scully._

"It was common among the Maya ruling classes to let blood from several parts of the anatomy. Noble women, including the queen, would puncture their tongues, as Torres did, and draw pieces of paper, or ropes with spikes embedded in them through the wounds."

The assembled group gasped.

Mulder had heard some of this from Linda Schele, so he knew what was coming next.

"However, the King, as chief priest and head Shaman, in his role as representative of the life-giving force, would fast for several days before his blood-letting ritual. He could, on lesser occasions, draw blood from his tongue as the others did, but not for time-ending rituals, or in times of great stress." She leaned on the lectern, flashing a quick glance at her partner, then dropped her voice. _Clinical detachment, Dana._ "At those times, he would draw blood from the source of his own regeneration, his male organs, with a stingray spine."

As the group moaned, she waited, covering her amusement by shuffling her papers.

"Now, as to the missing professors, we have little information, other than what you already knew from the reports the students gave us." After reviewing the students' testimony, she gestured to Rubins. "I'll let Agent Rubins fill you in on the details of the flight down to Seibal." She collected her notes, then stepped down, walking to the back to sit by her partner.

He leaned over to her. "Agent Scully, you are one wicked, wicked woman." His eyes glittered, since he, too, had exhibited a similar reaction when Doctor Schele had first told him.

"They deserved it, Mulder. They were looking at you like you were some kind of freak."

They turned their attention to Rubins, who had finished outlining flight procedures. They had set up the flight plans with Rubins last night, before they talked on the roof.

"The ruins are on a remote mountain on the border of Mexico and Guatemala. This is Zapatista country, people, so we will have to be on our guard. While we are on the ground, we are outside of US jurisdiction, and no one is safe. The mission will be under the control of Agent Malcom Evers. Malcom?"

Evers, prematurely grey in his early forties, had many years of experience with rebels in Central America. He was also a no-nonsense man of action, as trim and fit as the others were soft from desk work.

Evers stepped up to the lectern. "Gentlemen, and Lady." Here, he looked toward Scully. "Once we are in the jungle, my word goes. We won't get through this otherwise."

The partners exchanged puzzled looks. He was making this sound like a guerrilla raid, not the examination of a crime scene.

Mulder spoke up. "Excuse me." He stopped.

Evers was giving him what could only be described as an angry stare. "Yes, Mr. Mulder?"

"I thought we were going in to collect evidence, not fight a war."

Evers rolled his eyes. _This guy is worse than his reputation. At least his partner seems to understand the situation._ "Mr. Mulder. We are dealing with small groups of Zapatista rebels in the area. They tend to not like to have their ancestors' remains flown out of the country by US scholars for their museums. In addition, they believe the end of the world, as we know it, is coming, so there is a religious overtone to their cause. When dealing with such people, we need to take all necessary precautions to insure the success of the mission."

Mulder shrugged. "So?"

Evers sighed. "Do I have to spell it out for you, FBI? Since we are dealing with small semi-independent groups, we have to become one ourselves to survive. That's why I'm taking complete charge from now until we return to this embassy. We will meet on the helicopter pad at 1200. That will be all." He stepped down, then left the room.

The other CIA agents looked surprised. They had been expecting a simple fact-finding mission to a deserted mountain as well. Now it looked like covert operations had taken over.

-o-0-o-

Scully crossed her arms. "Mulder, I don't like the looks of this." The partners remained in the briefing room after the others left. "We are outside of FBI jurisdiction as it is, acting in a purely advisory capacity."

The tall agent nodded. "I'm beginning to think we sent Skinner a message about the wrong man, Scully. If something or someone were to go against us out there, we could disappear without a trace ourselves."

A second wire was sent to Washington: 'NEW new kid on the block: Malcom Evers. ASAP.'

-o-0-o-

American Embassy  
Saturday, 12:00 pm

Maria Santina tore the papers out of the machine. _These must be important._ The male FBI agent had requested that he get this information as soon as it arrived. She could hear the helicopter rotors whining as she ran to the stairwell to begin climbing. She had to reach the other side of the building as well as the door to the landing pad on the sixth floor, before they all left. The pad wasn't large enough for the three large 'copters to land at once, so they would be loaded one at a time. _If I'm lucky I'll catch the last one._

-o-0-o-

Malcom Evers took the papers from Maria's hand. _Rubins has trained his secretary well, she respects protocol._ Crouching, the woman backed away from the pad. He gave the signal, then the last of the helicopters was in the air.

_Now, what had that G-man wanted to know so desperately?_ He read the words on the first sheet: Max Lowenberg, CC survivor. Nothing of importance there. He would pass this one along once they reached Seibal.

The second sheet, however, they would not see. He opened the window. A crumpled piece of paper flew out to be chopped up by the rotors.

On it, had been two words: Evers. Shadow.

-o-0-o-

Seibal Ruins  
Saturday, 6:30 pm

Ux Balam's shade had never heard anything like the sound coming from the sky. Nor had he ever seen black birds with no wings, like what were hovering over the great square in front of his temple. Wondering what power from the Otherworld kept such creatures aloft, he slipped down the processional stair.

There were people in those birds, dropping to the ground, one by one, until there were eight of the pale-skins, carrying bags. The fantastic beasts rose straight up, then flew back away from his city. _What manner of men were these? They could command the Celestial Bird to eat and disgorge them at their will. If they were the adversary, no wonder my Maya have been reduced to crawling through the jungle on their bellies._

The evening filled with the sounds of the pale-skins setting up their camp on his processional way. It was too late for them to go into the pit, exploring for clues to the archaeologists' disappearance, so they would begin in the morning. Ux Balam waited until they had finished eating and had settled in for the night. He could visit their minds while they were asleep.

-o-0-o-

But two of them were not asleep. The FBI agents were talking quietly outside the tents they had pitched side by side. Scully was sitting cross-legged on the grass, her partner standing at her hip.

She looked up at him. "He only gave you one, Mulder?"

He passed the wire from Skinner to her, then he sat as well.

After she read the words, she glanced over at her partner.

Mulder was rubbing his face. "Mom said she was changing her flights. She's probably in Miami right now. At least I don't have to worry about her. But I said ASAP on the other."

They locked eyes. Either the wire had not reached Skinner, or it had not been returned to them. In any case, they had their answer: the Shadows were after them.

-o-0-o-

Seibal Ruins  
Sunday, September 1, 1996  
Maya Long Count Calendar 12/19/2/9/15  
12:01 am

Scully woke immediately upon hearing the nightmare begin in the next tent. _No, Mulder, not now._ Her partner was whispering his sister's name, so she knew he had to be awakened before he began shouting and crying in his sleep. She slid out of her bag, unzipped the front of her tent, reached over, then opened his. In the three quarters moon, she could see his head moving back and forth.

She paused. If this had been a normal _Hah!_ case, they would be in adjacent hotel rooms, where she could soothe him in total privacy. Here, there were six other men no more than ten feet away, all of whom believed the worst about Special Agent Fox Mulder.

An arm worked its way free of the confines of his bag.

Scully forced her head through the front. _There's no time._ "Mulder! Wake up!" She tried to reach his shoulder to shake him, but he was too tall. The one-man tent formed a cocoon around him. _Maybe crawling on top of him will work, Dana._ She found a narrow space between her partner's head and the tent wall by hers. Wedging herself in, she took his shoulders in both hands. "Mulder, it's me. Mulder, wake up now!" She was whispering in his ear, hoping to keep the others from getting involved.

He was beginning to shake, but he was also coming out of the dream. Once he opened his eyes, her worried expression told him what he had almost done. "Scully. I was dreaming about her again, wasn't I?"

She nodded.

He brushed her elbow with the hand that was already out of the sleeping bag. "I'm sorry, Scully. Thanks." He pushed himself off the ground, attempting to turn to face her in the small space. All he succeeded in doing was pulling out tent pegs before hitting his head on one of the tensioning rods that shaped the interior. He froze, afraid the tent was about to collapse on them both.

Scully tried not to laugh at his sheepish look, resting her hand on his side before she spoke. "You okay, Mulder?"

He rubbed his eyes. "Yeah, I guess."

A face appeared in the tent opening. It was Evers. "Agent Scully, can I speak to you, alone?"

She nodded, then began to crawl out of the narrow space, Mulder pulling his legs up to let her pass. As she left, she looked back at her partner wearing his familiar mask of sadness, guilt, and bewilderment at his loss.

-o-0-o-

Ux Balam hovered outside the tent, shocked at what was in the two agents' minds. _How could a people so advanced do things like this?_ He had felt that this one and the woman were different from the others. The man, Mulder, had crossed over to the Otherworld and returned, guided by a great Shaman in the North. That Shaman knew nothing of the Game, of course, as the Game was for the Maya kings and the Lords of the Dead.

He thought the Maya of his time were in a state of moral decay, since they fought then in the Tlaloc way of their northern neighbors, where all warriors would be executed if captured. He preferred the ancient Maya rite, where only the kings would meet in single combat, so only holy blood would fall on the ground to go down to the Lords of the Underworld. But this, this he could not fathom. Mulder's father had given up his sister to others, then had let the boy suffer for it all these years. Giving up one's own children? He and his principal wife never succeeded in having children, so the kingship passed to his younger brother at his death.

The woman had been taken, living, to another place of torment. She did not remember what had happened to her there, but it was all in her dreaming mind. He saw what she would not recall, hoping she never knew her buried pain. For such a one as this to suffer so! This Scully would have been a great lady among his people, blessed by the gods with hair the color of copal. She was intelligent and compassionate, a healer and a scribe. Although she had not seen the Otherworld, she no longer discounted what had come from there.

He thought, again, of his principal wife, the Lady Yax-Zok, daughter of the king of Chichen Itza, whose city was in decline. She too, had been educated in the writing of the scribes, was strong in heart and soul. After his victorious Ballgame, she had walked halfway to Dos Pilas, barefoot, where she met him on his way home. She hoped her royal blood, left on the road, would appease the Lords of Death who had been cheated of their prize.

The dreams of the others had been those typical of young men, except for the one named Evers, who was deeply divided about something secret he had to do in Seibal. He needed to consider these people, so that perhaps when the One who was of his Blood arrived with the Adept, they could use what he had learned.

-o-0-o-

Away from the tents, Evers dropped his hand on Scully's arm. "How often does this happen?"

Scully looked up at Evers. _Does he want a true answer?_

He read the sadness in her eyes. "You know why I ask?"

Scully thought she could work that out, so she nodded. If they had been tracking the guerrillas, an outburst in the middle of the night would have given them all away.

"But, Sir, I have to know. Aren't we just here to find out what happened to the archaeologists?"

He sighed. "Suppose they had been kidnapped by the Zapatistas, Agent Scully. I have orders to bring the archaeologists back, by whatever means necessary. We can't count on normal due process here. Then, by definition, our work entails covert operations and your partner would be putting us all at risk. Let me guess, after one of these nightmares he doesn't go back to sleep, either."

She nodded again. _Great. Now he'll think Mulder is absolutely useless._ "Sir, Agent Mulder has a unique way of gaining insights into the cases we work on. Sometimes this insomnia works for him. Many times he has worked out who is responsible for a crime under just these circumstances." She wouldn't tell him that they often spent the rest of the day arguing over whether Mulder's theories could possibly be correct. _He'll learn that soon enough._

"Thank you, Agent Scully. Perhaps you are right, his ideas may prove useful in the end. That will be all." He turned away from her, knowing these were both good people, having read their files. Mulder's continuing torment was over the loss of his sister. It had driven him to the FBI where he had helped put away dangerous serial killers. Scully's loyalty to her partner and duty to her mission were admirable. He was beginning to feel regret over the other set of orders he had to carry out on this exercise.

-o-0-o-

As Scully returned to her tent, she heard a familiar voice whisper her name. She poked her head in her partner's tent.

He was awake now, sitting on his sleeping bag, his eyes focused and glowing.

"Yes, Mulder?"

He motioned her inside.

She glanced back over her shoulder, checking for Evers, who was about fifteen feet away with his back to them. She could hear snores from some of the other tents. "This isn't good for my reputation, you know, partner." She smiled, trying to make light of the situation, pleased that he half smirked as she crawled in.

"So you want me to apologize for my rugged masculine charm, Scully?"

When she reached him, she sat by his shoulder with her legs crossed in the narrow space before her.

He shrugged. "Who do you think it is?"

She chewed her lower lip, considering the other agents. "Well, the logical choice is Evers. He had the messages from DC, and could have destroyed the second response himself. But, he seems to think the archaeologists were kidnapped by the Zapatistas. He was concerned that your nightmares would give us all away to them, Mulder. He wants to believe this is a rescue mission we'll all walk out of, if we're careful enough."

"And if he had termination orders for us, he would do it before we jeopardized the rest of the group." He nodded. "So who else? Rubins? He works down here all year long. The shadows wouldn't leave him here if they could use him elsewhere."

Scully chin dropped momentarily on her chest. _I really need to sleep._

The touch of her partner's hand on her shoulder brought her head back up, close to his concerned face. "Go and get some rest, Scully. I need to think."

_That's one late night plan I can agree with, Mulder._

-o-0-o-

Tomb of Ux Balam  
Seibal Ruins  
Sunday, 10:30 am

The great stone slab was still propped against the wall of the pit. Mulder and Scully had been turned loose to explore the excavated parts of the grave for clues. After examining the side chambers to find only scraps of bones, they stood, side by side, looking into the open grave at the final resting place of Ux Balam.

Mulder pointed into the sarcophagus. "The students reported Doctor Harris mentioning he smelled blood down here just before the grave was opened. You smell anything?"

They exchanged a smirk at the reference to the Kevin Kryder case, which several months ago, would have precipitated an argument.

Scully shook her head. "There could be a simple explanation for the odor. Blood gets its distinctive color and aroma from iron in the hemoglobin. Look at the soil in the sarcophagus." They stepped down into the stone casket.

Mulder frowned. "What?"

She picked up some red colored earth, scattered over the depressions where the bones had lain. "Normally, the interior of a royal sarcophagus was coated with cinnabar, a mercury compound. But here they used red ocher. It's full of iron so it's often used as a ceremonial substitute. On a humid day, or just after a rain, it will smell faintly like blood. That could be what Doctor Harris was referring to."

He leaned in close to her ear, his hazel eyes glittering in anticipation of her reaction. "Or, it could be Ux Balam climbing back up the World Tree to see who was paying him a visit."

She gave him the Look as they climbed out to stand on the edge. Neither wanted to remain where the scholars had been seen last, both envisioning the great slab descending in their minds' eye. "While this is all fascinating, it still doesn't help us find Doctors Waters and Harris. There are no scraps of clothing or Caucasian hairs on the stone lid, just these beautiful carvings."

He nodded. "The loose soil down here has footprints everywhere, so it looks like there's been no attempt to cover evidence. I didn't see impressions of bodies in the soil, which there would have been, had they hidden, or been stashed, waiting for the others to leave. We can't lift any fingerprints off all this rough earth, and even if we found some on the stone slab, we would need to fingerprint all the graduate students, as well as the people in the surrounding villages, before we could get a match."

She walked around the pit, finally stopping in front of him, rubbing the back of her neck. "And, despite Evers' belief, they probably haven't been kidnapped by the Zapatistas."

He raised an eyebrow. "How do you know that?"

"No ransom demands. The Zapatistas are very talkative. Most of their international support comes from groups they have contacted through the Net. Believe it or not, these groups carry computers in the field and post updates to garner support." She shook her head. "I think I should have taken Skinner's advice."

They both looked to the opening of the pit above them.

She sighed. "We shouldn't be here."

Mulder rested his hand on her shoulder. _Don't think about that._ He stepped back to begin pacing along the long axis of the sarcophagus. "I think our scope is too narrow. Suppose, just suppose, in this place, the Maya myths are true." He held up both hands as she frowned, then began to object. "We've run out of Twentieth Century explanations." Walking back to her, he took her arm before guiding her to one end of the sarcophagus lid. He tapped the Maw of Xibalba, under the image of Ux Balam. "What is this, Doctor Scully?"

She studied the carving, her eyes widening as she realized what he was driving at, then she glared up at him. "Mulder, you're not seriously proposing that Doctors Harris and Waters somehow fell into Xibalba and are playing the Ballgame with the Lords of the Dead, are you?" She stepped back, placing her hands on her hips. "Those are just legends, stories from an ancient time!"

He shook his head. "What happens in the year 2012, tell me."

She frowned again. "The Long Count calendar of Maya time returns to its beginning, to .0, and the cycle of time begins again, as at the Creation. Did Doctor Schele tell you about that?"

He nodded. "In every religion, even in the Hindu, the start of new time cycles is associated with strange and supernatural events. Well, doesn't this qualify as a strange or supernatural event?"

She cocked an eyebrow at him. _He did have a point._ The cosmic alignment they had experienced at Comity certainly had had effects. "Mulder, you may be on to something here."

He stared, momentarily nonplussed. _Wait, she's agreeing with me?_

"Let's say you *are* right, that they have gone down to Xibalba. Hellofaplace to try to stage a rescue, if you ask me, pilgrim." She wrinkled her nose at him. _Gotcha!_

"I know. You want to be there when I tell Evers all this?"

She rolled her eyes, then groaned.

_Right back, Scully._

"What are partners for?"

They walked to the ladder to begin climbing out of the pit, she above him.

On the way up, Scully began joking again. "So, Mulder, what will you do?"

"What do you mean, Scully?" His mind had obviously been elsewhere.

_Let's make him think on his feet again, Dana._ "Well, let's say all these paranormal phenomena we've been investigating over the past few years are coming to a head at the end of the Long Count cycle. That means, come 2013, we'll be out of X-Files to investigate. I can always be a pathologist in a city morgue. What will you do?" They had reached the top, where Scully pulled herself up onto the ground, then crawled aside so he could do the same.

Mulder stepped up off the ladder before bending down to help her stand. "I don't know. Maybe one of those women Miriam has picked out for me will want to marry an ex-FBI agent."

She looked up at him as they were dusting themselves off. "No, no, no. For those women, you're supposed to be the great big breadwinner, don't cha know."

He shrugged. "Well, it wouldn't be much, but do you suppose Dirk Gently needs an associate?"

All he got for that one was a gentle dig in the ribs.

_Or, try this, Scully._ "Yeah, well, maybe I can rent out my manly services to certain City Pathologists for the right price. You know, food, a roof over my head, and a warm place to sleep at night."

Having reached a working consensus of sorts, their eyes were dancing, happily lost in the jests.

"Mulder!"

"A hit, a very palpable hit, milady!"

She waggled her fist in his face. "One of these days!"

He pouted. "But it works for the Red Menace."

She pushed him hard enough so he lost his balance, then stumbled as they walked back towards the tents.

-o-0-o-

Malcom Evers had heard enough. "They're *where*?"

The two agents looked absolutely serious.

"The Maya place of the dead?"

Mulder sighed. _It's so obvious, if he only thinks about it._ "That's what we think, Sir. There is no physical evidence they were killed or injured in the tomb. No hair, blood, or torn cloth. Not in the sarcophagus itself, nor the side passages. There were no indentations of bodies lying in the dirt, so we don't think they hid or were hidden and left or were removed later. If they didn't go up, or sideways, then they must have gone down."

Evers looked from Mulder to Scully. "The bottom of the sarcophagus is a stone slab, thicker than the lid. They could have somehow been trapped under it. I'll send several agents down with you again to move it and see."

Scully shook her head. "The rest of the stones show no signs of having been moved, Sir. It would be a waste of time and manpower."

Evers stepped toward her. "You agree with him? You don't think this is some sleep deprivation induced hallucination?" He was practically on top of her, shouting.

Mulder wanted to intervene, but his diminutive partner stood her ground.

Scully had crossed her arms. "No, Sir. It's the only solution that comes anywhere close to explaining the evidence in hand. In the absence of one better, it's all we have to go on."

Evers began waving his hands. "Well, fine, people. You call CIA headquarters and tell them." He spun on one heel to walk away, then turned back. "I'm a soldier, not a politician. I need someone to arrest, a body to retrieve. How am I supposed to do that now?"

Mulder brightened. "Call a Shaman?"

Evers stormed off.

-o-0-o-

Seibal Ruins  
Monday, September 2, 1996  
Maya Long Count Calendar 12/19/2/9/16  
1:30 am

"Scully, it's me. Scully, wake up. I need to talk to you."

Dana Scully groaned. It was the Energizer Bunny again.

He was in her tent, crouched as she had been the previous night, by her head, shaking one of her shoulders gently.

"Mulder, are you okay? Where are you? I can't see." She could feel him crawling along her side, then sliding the zipper down on her sleeping bag. _Agent Mulder, What are you doing? Stop that!_ She reached for where she thought his hands would be, but he had already grasped her left foot, holding it still while he slid it into her boot.

"It's dark; the moon has set. We can see the stars now." He stopped, as if that were reason enough.

"Mulder, back up. Why do we want to go out and look at the stars?" The slight jerking she felt on her left leg stopped, since he was done lacing up the boot. _Oh, no, Dana, you set yourself up for this one._

"Scully! Is there no romance in that Vulcan soul of yours?" His long fingers wrapped around her right ankle, holding it up while he adjusted her other boot, then the gentle twisting started again.

"Mulderrr." She growled at him. She could smell him leaning in close to her ear.

"Klingon are you now? I'll remember that." Tugging urgently on her arm, Mulder crawled backwards out of the tent, then was suddenly all business as they stood in the dark. "I had a dream. I don't understand it. There was a canoe, with a pair of twins rowing. It would tip over. Rains would fall. The canoe turned into a monster, pursuing a turtle. It must have something to do with this place. Linda Schele talked about how the Maya constellations were canoes and turtles. I had stopped listening to her, since I was wondering how von Daniken could have been so wrong at the time."

"All those images are jumbled up bits of Maya lore. Let's go to the pyramid. I don't have a photographic memory like you. But, I'll try to tell you some of the legends I remember reading in March."

They began walking toward the great dark shape blocking the twinkling lights. Scully caught her foot on one of the other support ropes.

It jerked the tent, waking Andrews, the occupant, in a start. "Hey, watch it out there." He poked his head out the tent door. "It's the FBI. Going to get more clues from the Maya underworld, guys?"

Evers had said nothing of their theory to the other CIA agents, but the argument had obviously been overheard.

"Keep it down!" Rubins shouted out, then the two agents began arguing while Mulder and Scully left.

-o-0-o-

Scully had been pointing at the various stars, attempting to explain the sky as the Maya saw it to him.

But, with their difference in height, he could never tell exactly what she was indicating. "Scully! Stop! I don't understand."

Her arm dropped to her side.

"Let's try something, partner. Lie down."

_Mulder!_ She complied, slowly.

He lay down as well, so that their feet were pointing away in opposite directions, their heads side by side, nestled in curve of each other's neck and shoulders. "Okay, start again, please."

_This makes sense. He can actually tell what I'm pointing at._ "Ready? good." She swept out a broad arc in the sky. "The canoe and the monster are one and the same thing, the Milky Way, just at different times of the year." The white way in the sky was brighter here than either of them had seen in the States. Her arm dropped to her chest. "How do we know the seasons, Mulder?" Her voice had that same smug tone his had taken on in the pit.

He shifted his head to see her profile against the stars. "Scully! The temperature goes up and down, the days get longer and shorter, everyone knows that. So what's your point?"

"Down here, neither of those things happen, or happen noticeably for a people who don't measure temperature in fractions of degrees above absolute zero or time in nanoseconds. The day length varies by less than an hour over the entire year, and the only seasons are dry and hot, or wet and hot, alternating twice through the year. It should be the second rainy season now."

He looked up again. "Oh."

"The Maya didn't use the sun to tell the seasons, they used the Milky Way. It appears to change its position from east-west to north-south through the night and different parts of it are visible at different times of year." She pointed towards three stars in a line. "See the three stars in the belt of Orion? The Maya saw the belt as three stones on the back of a turtle. The last stone in the Orion turtle's back is one of three stars forming a triangle that the Maya called the three hearthstones. They saw Gemini as two peccaries. When the part of the Milky Way between the peccaries and the turtle appears in the second half of the night, the second rainy season starts, in mid-August." Her arm was beginning to ache, so she dropped it to her chest.

He interwove his fingers on his stomach. "Hunh. I never thought of them that way."

"Um-hum. When the part of the Milky Way between the peccaries and the turtle disappears in the second half of the night, that's the start of the first rainy season in mid-February."

He turned his head towards hers. "Well, that explains the turtles and the rain. But the canoe and the monster?"

"That's just the Milky way again, in different positions. You mentioned the World Tree. When the Milky Way is due north-south, relative to the ecliptic, the Maya called it the Wacah Chan, the World Tree." She pointed to several bumps. "Right now, the Milky Way is the Sky Canoe, tipping down into the Underworld. The twins paddling it are on their way to Xibalba to rescue their father, whose body is hidden under the great Ballcourt."

Mulder grunted. "Ballcourts again. You'd think all the Maya did between harvests was play."

Scully twisted in frustration. "Mulder! Not at all! The Ballgame was more than just a sport, it was an important religious ceremony. The stones of the Ballcourt represented the ground itself or the shell of the turtle in the sky. The twins' Father is the corn plant. Maya myth taught that the Father was trapped in the turtle until the twins cracked the shell to release him, just as the corn seed has to split the hull to release the plant to grow. In real Maya life, now is when they plant the corn." She couldn't hold her arm up anymore.

Mulder took her silence to mean she was tired. "Scully?"

She continued. "At the winter solstice, the Milky Way lying east-west looked to the Maya like a Cosmic Monster. In February, when the corn is fully grown, part of the Milky Way looked to them like a maize plant, ready for harvest."

"Oh, so the myths are all about planting and harvesting."

"Food. Life. You know, the important things."

He chuckled. "Yeah, life. The universe. Everything."

-o-0-o-

Ux Balam was watching the pair and listening. They had part of the story right, anyway. But every child knew these tales. All the myths of his people, reduced to whispered stories in the night. How could it be that these pale-skins, who were so powerful, knew so little about what really mattered? What would he tell his warriors when they arrived?

-o-0-o-

The agents stayed where they were, drowsing in and out of sleep, as the Sak Be, the Raised-up-Sky, rotated over their heads. Finally, Mulder spoke to his partner.

"Scully?"

"Hum?"

"We should head back. You must be cold."

"Hm-um. It's nice up here. Just cool. We don't have to worry about jaguars prowling around the tents. Besides, if we try to head down the stairs in the dark, the pitch is so steep we'll break something if we miss one of those uneven steps."

_This was true._ He let himself fade slowly into sleep. _No nightmares tonight, G-man._ He thought he heard something on the edge of the platform, so he turned his head to look. _There. In the dark._ Someone was sitting, watching them. He sat up, but his wakening mind took over, so Ux Balam disappeared from his vision.

"Mulder? What is it?" She was awake too, twisted on her side.

"Sorry, Scully. Thought there was someone watching us."

She pushed herself off the ground to look out over the velvety black jungle. "Hate to tell you, but we aren't the only ones up tonight." She pointed out into the forest.

There was a faint line of lights, headed toward the ruins. They counted fifteen torches, moving through the night. Ux Balam's warriors had finally arrived.

-o-0-o-

Awakened by the quarreling CIA agents, Malcom Evers had decided. It was tonight, or never, and he always obeyed orders. He screwed the silencer onto his pistol, then rolled out of his tent. Crouching outside of where he knew Mulder's head would be, he emptied several shells into the nylon sheet. He heard the thump, thump, thump, as the bullets impacted something soft. _Good enough._ That man's theory was driving him nuts, anyway.

He quietly replaced the clip, crawled over behind Scully's tent, then paused. He really didn't want to hurt this bright, loyal doctor. _Orders, Evers, orders._ He sighed, then emptied his clip, hearing the same thump, thump, thump. They would be found dead by the others in the morning when he could use the Zapatista cover story as an excuse.

-o-0-o-

End - Xibalba - Raised-Up-Sky


	3. Under the Ballcourt

=====o===========================================o=====

_Xibalba_ by Mary Ruth Keller

Part III - _Under the Ballcourt_

=====o===========================================o=====

Seibal Ruins  
Border of Mexico and Guatemala  
Monday, September 2, 1996  
Maya Long Count Calendar 12/19/2/9/16  
2:30 am

"Do we try to get back to warn the others, Mulder?" Scully twisted around to face her partner, who was staring down at the camp.

"No, Scully, we don't. We hide. *Now*."

She moved over to him. "What did you see?"

"Our assassin executing his termination order." Mulder had observed several silent flashes of light down by their tents, so he knew they were trapped.

He and Scully walked away from the stairs, finally hiding behind the remains of a low wall of a temple part way down the back of the pyramid. Once they had concealed themselves as best they could, they waited, listening. Several pairs of feet were climbing the steep approach to the pyramid's summit.

Scully reached behind her partner to touch his leg.

"It's in DC. I was on vacation, you know."

She winced, chastising herself for forgetting to check for his gun when she stopped to feed the fish. _Why would he have it on vacation, Dana?_ "Mine's in my tent. I was sleeping, you know." She squeezed his shoulder. Both of them were glad Mulder's dream had brought them up here. "So, we just sit, hoping they go away?" She felt her partner's breath on her ear.

Mulder tapped her shoulder once. "I thought we'd offer your Linux knowledge to the Zapatistas as a bargaining chip."

She punched him, very lightly. They needed to function tightly now, as they had in March, to stay alive. There would be no more talking; the feet were too close.

-o-0-o-

Ux Balam took no notice of the pale-skinned pair. _The One of my Blood is here!_ As he expected, his descendant was the leader, the Adept second in command. It was good to see the old ways respected, after a fashion. The shade of the King reached into the leader's mind. He too, had one of the pale-skin's names: Jesus Garcia. But even that name reflected his ancient status as one who was believed divine.

Garcia felt the touch of the shade. _Ancient Father? Is that you?_ He had heard the call from the mountains to the west, guiding his group to these old ruins.

Ux Balam felt enormous pride. His Blood was strong enough, even as diluted in these veins, to cross between worlds easily. He allowed himself to become visible.

Mulder and the Maya men gasped, never having seen a warrior in the Tlaloc headdress of feathers and obsidian, with the chin-guards and peaked brim.

Ux Balam rose into the air. _Look well, my warriors. Once we all wore these, and fought as men._ As he hovered, the Maya fell to the ground, all but his Heir and the Adept, whose minds he touched, sharing what he knew.

-o-0-o-

Malcom Evers packed his pistol away, having followed his orders. Although Rubins was designated radio operator, tonight he pulled rank to keep the unit in his tent, just for this. He broadcast the coded message on a secure frequency: 'Problem Solved.'

Tomorrow the FBI agents would be found dead and their bodies loaded on helicopters bound for the Embassy. Their mortal remains would never arrive, but be dumped in the Gulf of Mexico.

After a few days futile search for the "Zapatistas" responsible, the CIA agents would leave as well. The pair had revealed too much information that threatened the nation's security. It was better this way, so he would sleep well tonight.

-o-0-o-

Mulder and Scully waited behind the low wall, motionless.

The Maya had regrouped into a small circle, speaking softly among themselves in their native tongue, Chol, then spread out, searching. Ux Balam had revealed their presence to his people as he was explaining the locations of all the Americans, as he had learned they were called.

Scully began checking the steep wall of the pyramid behind them, attempting to decide if they could escape down into the jungle. But her partner's hand on her shoulder stopped her. She turned back to see they were surrounded by Zapatista guns. They were grabbed, not roughly, brought out from behind the wall, then held up to leader.

Garcia scanned their faces. "My ancestor tells me you have been to the other side, guided by a Great Northern Shaman."

Thinking of the Blessing Way ritual and Albert Hosteen, Mulder nodded.

"Then, you will live, as will your partner. My ancestor also tells me she would be a great lady among his people. My name is Jesus Garcia."

The agents exchanged puzzled looks _English?_ before Mulder pulled himself up to his full height. "I'm Agent Mulder and this is my partner, Agent Scully, from the FBI."

The leader laughed. "Surprised at my lack of accent? Don't be. Presbyterian Missions School. It was started with the purpose of civilizing us, eliminating the Maya way of life. As if the Priests hadn't tried all these years." Garcia looked Scully over, Mulder beginning to edge into his view as he did so. "You are a healer?"

Scully nodded. "I'm a medical doctor. Are any of your people injured?"

Garcia shook his head. "But we can always use a doctor in the village." He looked from one to the other. "Do you know who I am?"

They waited.

"I'm a descendant of the King who lay in the grave at the bottom of the pyramid. He's here, you know, watching us, speaking to me." _No surprise, no protest. There must be more to these two than meets the eye._

Mulder rested his fists on his hips. "If he's here, then how does he suggest we get out of this mess? There are armed CIA agents, six of them, down below. They're expecting Zapatistas, and now you're here."

Garcia smiled. "And one of those agents thinks he has killed both of you, just now. My ancestor has told me, too." He stepped up to Mulder. "We go out the way we came in. The CIA down there are desk jockeys who took this duty because they thought it would be a free trip to Mexico. They won't be a problem, just watch your step."

-o-0-o-

Seibal Ruins  
Monday, 7:00 am

Rubins rolled over in his tent. This trip in the jungle was fun, but he was bored now. He itched, he wanted to get back to his own bed, his good hot soaking tub, but most, he needed to take a leak. He unzipped the tent flap to slip out.

The light was just enough to avoid tripping on tent lines, like that Scully woman had done last night. He had wondered about those two, always with their heads together, all that touching. _Did they think they were fooling anyone?_ So unlike the intelligent woman he met in DC. Finished, he prepared to return to camp.

He looked over at the FBI agents' tents, noticing Mulder's was torn on the side, as was Scully's. _No, not torn, shot through, Tom._ He ran over, catching his foot only once, finding both tents empty. The bullets had ripped into their balled-up sleeping bags. Perhaps that extracurricular exercise saved their lives, or perhaps they were dead in the jungle.

Rubins had to get Evers. "Hey, Malcom! We've got trouble!" He banged on Evers' tent flap.

Inside, Evers rolled out of his sleeping bag, having been waiting for this. "What are you saying, Rubins?" He wanted all the others to witness the moment of discovery. "Is there a problem?" _That worked._ He watched the remaining four creep out of their tents, concerned. _I can play these weekend warriors like a violin._

Rubins nodded. "It's Mulder and Scully. They're gone. Someone shot up their tents and they're gone."

_Play along, Malcom. You don't want to give the game away._ "Let me see." He walked over to make a show of inspecting the tents. _Do I yell, act concerned, what? No, man of deeds, remember._ "They must be..."

He bent down to look into Mulder's tent, but it was empty, as was Scully's. _How?_ He was truly upset now. "Okay People! We have a situation here!"

Andrews was snickering behind his hand.

"You want to share the joke, Funny Man?"

The DC-based CIA agent nodded. "I saw them last night. She tripped over my tent lines, as they were talking about star-gazing together."

A ripple of laughter ran through the group, prompting Evers to take charge again. "Then let's split up, people, form into pairs. We'll find these two lame-brains and kick their butts back to DC! You two, check the pyramid. If they were stargazing, they might be asleep up there. Funny man, you and Rubins check the pit. You, with me. Go!"

The three groups went their separate ways.

-o-0-o-

Mexican Rain Forest  
Monday, 2:30 pm

But they were long gone. The Maya had slipped past the sleeping men in the night. Now they marched at a steady, rapid pace, not speaking, until the long overdue rains began to fall.

Scully was relieved that because she had bladed so much over the summer, her legs didn't ache once they stopped, unable to see in the downpour.

The Maya second in command, who had introduced himself only as Jose, had given the agents a tarp for shelter. After Mulder had draped it over a tree branch, they huddled together beneath it.

He turned to her, his eyes aglow. "Did you see it? Did you see the Maya warrior's ghost?"

Scully pushed a clump of wet hair behind her ear. "I know what I think I saw."

His face darkened. "Scully! He was standing right there!"

She dropped her head into her hands. "Mulder, please. We can't do this right now. We need to concentrate on staying alive. We are captives of a guerrilla group, and the only people who might look for us want us dead. You know the assassin will discover in the morning that he didn't kill us. He'll come after us; they always do."

Neither of them would ever forget the shape-shifting alien who kidnapped Scully and left Mulder on the ice to die.

She took a deep breath. "I'll do whatever it takes to get out of this situation, no matter how strange it may seem. I'll even kick around a giant rubber ball with men claiming to be the Lords of Xibalba." _That's as good as you'll get from me._ "At this moment, I don't care about what is scientifically verifiable. I just want to get through this. Once we are back in our basement office trying to piece together a semi-coherent report for Skinner, we'll argue until we're rolling around the floor with our hands on each other's throats, okay?"

He smirked, just as she had hoped. "Promise, Agent Scully?"

"Promise, Agent Mulder."

The joke over, he sobered, retreating behind his all too familiar mask of guilt and worry.

Scully knew he would be no good in the depths of depression, so she poked him in the ribs.

_What does she want now?_

"Phoebe was wrong about you, you know?"

He blinked. "Phoebe? What does she have to do with anything?"

She patted his arm. "You do know how to show a girl a good time."

As silent thanks, he reached behind her to shake her shoulder.

-o-0-o-

Seibal Ruins  
Monday, 9:00 am

Rubins stared at Evers. _He's nuts!_ "You want us to do what, Malcom? Just run off in the forest trying to find those two? What about the Zapatistas? We know there are at least a dozen in the group. Shouldn't we call for reinforcements?"

He and Andrews had found the path the guerrillas used to come and go from the pyramid. At that moment, Rubins knew the FBI agents had been kidnapped. But he was confused by the damage to their tents. Why was someone after these two? Who was it? He knew Evers' reputation as a good soldier, but he was unfamiliar with the others.

Rubins had heard rumors from Stu of a shadow government run out of some dark part of the FBI. After their discussion, he had brought up the Gunmen's home-page to review the D'Amato papers. The documents indicated a UFO had been shipped out of the Black Forest at the end of the Second World War, but no supporting physical evidence had ever been found.

Malcom Evers's words interrupted his thoughts. "We have to find these two and bring them out. If none of you are willing, I'll go in alone. The helicopters can be here in a few hours, if you people want to back out now."

Rubins shook his head. _Something's not right with him. Go into the jungle alone?_ He had to stick to the man, find out what he was up to. In a way, Rubins felt responsible for the agents's disappearance, since if he hadn't asked, they wouldn't have been here in the first place.

The rest had decided that they wanted to go back to DC. He couldn't blame them, but he had to stay. The helicopters were summoned, the other agents departing as Rubins watched. _So much for my own bed and a hot bath._

Evers turned to Rubins. "Looks like it's just you and me. Let's go."

They slipped into the jungle following the Zapatistas' trail as the rain began to fall.

-o-0-o-

J. Edgar Hoover Building  
Washington, DC  
Monday, 6:30 pm

"Gloria? Any word from Mexico?" Walter Skinner had stepped into his receptionist's office, waiting.

She shook her head. _You've asked every hour, on the hour, Director Skinner. If I knew anything, I would have buzzed you immediately._ She wasn't angry with her boss, knowing he was concerned for his two agents, not micro-managing her job.

The X-Files team, of which he was a sometime member, had not contacted him since the two wires on Saturday.

She was worried about Agents Scully and Mulder as well. Dana Scully had always been cordial, chatting with her about their families while she waited to meet with Director Skinner. And Fox Mulder. She had caught him leaving a single white rose bud on her desk the day she came back after burying her husband last year.

Gloria folded her hands in her lap. "No, Mr. Skinner, no word. Should you try the Embassy? Maybe they're back, but haven't checked in yet?"

He nodded, passing through, then closing the door to his office.

She watched the button for his personal line illuminate, blinking, indicating an outgoing call, then steady as the connection was completed. The instant the light went out, she heard her boss call out her name. She ran into his office to find he was pacing.

As soon as he saw her, he began barking orders like the ex-Marine he was. "I need tickets to Villa Hermosa, now! The CIA agents from Washington are flying out of there. Agents Mulder and Scully are missing!"

-o-0-o-

Mexican Rain Forest  
Monday, 9:30 pm

Scully stepped over the twisted roots of a ceiba tree, barely picking up the trail in the dim light of the pitch-burning torches. When she reached back to touch her partner's arm, he responded by hopping over the obstacle. After about an hour, the rain had let up just enough for them to resume walking. But Mulder had remained distant, almost detached. A few short months ago, his silence would have panicked her, but not now. She knew he was working through something, so she limited her speech with him to short warnings about the trail.

She would however, touch him regularly, just to let him know she was there, if he needed her. She had learned, in her years with Mulder, that for him, speech conveyed information only, but communication of his thoughts and feelings was through his eyes and his hands. Initially, that had proved a distraction, she thinking he was being forward with her. But they were used to each other now, the occasional pat on the shoulder or elbow, a grip of the arm or back, seemed as natural as breathing.

Jose had retrieved the tarp, leaving them both soaked to the skin. Mulder's short hair was plastered to his head as if glued, while hers hung in dripping strings around her face. The rain had finally turned to a light mist at dusk. As the night proceeded, the temperature was dropping. Scully wondered if they were going to walk through the night. Her legs had ached for a while around sunset, but she felt numb now, concentrating only on the trail, on guiding her partner's steps. The heel of her boot hit a stone, causing her to stumble, not falling only because a strong pair of hands supported her.

"Scully, you okay?"

She looked up, relieved to see his eyes focused on her face, not off in the distance. _Wherever he was, he's back._ "I'm okay, Mulder."

He smiled at her. _How many times have we said that?_

She began to walk on, but he hadn't let go of her. "They've stopped. I think we get to rest now."

The agents spotted the fallen limb of a rubber tree, where they sat, grateful for the break.

Watching her rub her calves, he spoke softly, almost in apology. "You were right, you know."

"Hum?" She frowned, attempting to recall their last conversation.

"We can't argue about what happens here, not for a while, anyway. There's something funny going on with Garcia and Jose. Do you remember last night, when I said I thought I saw someone on the pyramid with us?"

She nodded.

"Well, I don't know how, but it's as if I know what Ux Balam is trying to say to Garcia and Jose, if I don't use my conscious mind."

Her words from earlier sounded in her ears: 'Whatever gets us out of this situation.' She smiled to herself. Her definitions of 'whatever' had certainly expanded over the past few months. After they had discovered the tangible proof of the D'Amato papers, she found she was questioning her unthinking denial of the unexplained. As a result, she had spent her recovery from her second surgery reading over the X-Files.

Scully had never had the luxury of an extended amount of free time in DC since being partnered with Mulder. Quarantines to determine the possibility of infection by the various exotic organisms had forced them both into inactivity, but those had kept them well away from the basement and the Files. So she had never examined more of the folders than had been absolutely necessary for whatever case had been most pressing.

Those two months had been a revelation, reading over decades of reports of unexplained phenomena, talking them over with her partner. She had developed new respect for the intuitive connections he made between what seemed initially to be unrelated events. He, on the other hand, had learned, again, just how clever she was at logically building a framework that would support his speculations as well as pulling him in before his leaps sent him off a cliff.

They had together developed reasonably plausible explanations for some of what had been stuffed in the basement of the Hoover building, even closing a few of the cases. Given her physician's strict orders to rest, Mulder had done the footwork, while she, with his enthusiastic prompting, had handled the theorizing.

Now, as she analyzed what he was saying, a semi-rational theory formed. _For an X-file, that is, Dana._ She touched his arm. "Mulder, I think I see some reason for what you've experienced. If Garcia and Hosteen were right about you, and you have been to the other side and back, then you might be more sensitive to impressions than most people. So what *is* happening with Garcia and Jose? They were arguing furiously about Ux Balam about an hour ago."

He glanced over at the Maya, who were resting in a loose circle. "Ux Balam is trying to warn Garcia about something, but Garcia only wants to know where all the Americans are. Jose wants to know about the myths he had heard, are they true. Garcia seems jealous, almost, whenever Ux Balam tries to communicate with Jose." He shook his head. "I don't like the dynamic that is forming in this group, Scully. With all these guns, if either Garcia or Jose decides to go after the other, we may get caught in the cross fire."

Scully feigned a look of shock.

He frowned, puzzled. "What? What did I say?"

"For a moment there, Mulder, you sounded like an Oxford trained psychologist, not a mystic."

He snorted, then sobered, as they heard footsteps approaching the camp.

It was a pair of women, carrying food, fresh hot flat breads and strong thick cacao for the guerrillas. Jose directed one of the women towards the partners. To the agents' surprise, the food was shared equally with them. Scully didn't realize until they smelled the cooked maize, just how hungry she was, or how long it had been since they had eaten. As she accepted the soft yellow bread, one of the women nodded as she touched the cross on her neck.

Mulder smiled up at the Maya as she handed him his food, thanking her in Spanish. "Looks like you've impressed the natives, Scully."

The women disappeared into the forest. They ate and drank in silence, letting the warm loaves and steaming liquid drive the chill of the rain from them.

-o-0-o-

"And I won't have my orders countermanded, even if you are the Agency Representative!" Evers stalked off to set up his tent, ignoring Rubins. _What kind of a fool does he think I am? I'm in charge here. I have orders from Washington. Do I have to wave them in his face? Or maybe I should mention him to the Consortium?_

Rubins watched him go. _Fine mess you're in now, Tom. For all you know, he may be the one who tried to plug Mulder and Scully, and you had to get into a fight about protocols._ He decided he would sleep with his gun loaded by his side, in case Evers tried to attack him. Once inside his tent, he sent a coded message to the Embassy, asking if the other Agents were back yet. It was late. The way things worked in his office, it would probably be morning before there was a response.

-o-0-o-

Somewhere over the Gulf of Mexico  
Monday, 10:30 pm

Assistant Director Skinner drummed his fingers on the armrest of his seat. _You've spent too much time with your spooky partner, Scully. No, that wasn't fair._ Dana Scully was one of the most rational agents he had ever met. She identified the cause of death for Peter Torres sitting in his office, then had verified her conclusions at the autopsy. That was the only good news he had heard in his conversation with Maria Santina.

_She gave the wires to Evers!_ It was like sending lambs to the slaughter. He could only hope that his agents were missing because the lack of a message had been as informative as the actual message would have been, not that they had been killed in their sleep.

He half suspected that Mulder had dragged Scully off following some wild supposition, that they were hiding from Evers right now. _That would be like him._ Especially after having seen Mulder in the field, the productivity of his agents amazed him. The way Mulder single-mindedly pursued his theories, Skinner never thought the tall agent could keep a partner for more than a few weeks, but whatever Mulder and Scully had, worked. He checked his watch. _Three more hours!_ He took off his glasses, to chew the end of one earpiece, impatient.

-o-0-o-

Mexican Rain Forest  
Monday, 10:30 pm

Mulder felt Scully shiver, once. Jose had loaned them the tarp again. The agents spread it out on the torn grasses and leaves they had gathered, as the others were doing. But their clothes were still wet. As the night wore on, the damp air felt colder still. He was supine, attempting to work out plans to diffuse the dangerous situation developing among the Maya. Garcia had shouted at Jose, in front of the others, about His Ancestor, His Vision, His Way. Any further conflict would split the little group into two factions.

_Just like you almost did, after Comity._ But now, he couldn't see what had been so important then, compared to what they were together. She shivered again. He looked over at her back, since she was curled up, facing away from him.

_No, this isn't right._ He gently slid her towards him, until her head was resting on his chest, facing him. The movement awakened her.

"Mulder?" She opened one green-blue eye. _My big brother, who else?_

"Sorry, Scully. No first class accommodations this trip." He rubbed her shoulder, attempting to warm her. "That better?"

"Mm-hum." She opened both eyes, prodded by a thought. "No breakfast in bed? I wanted croissants and coffee."

He touched his hair, exaggerating a frown. "Scared me there. Thought I'd gone bald for a minute."

They laughed softly together.

"Mulder?"

"Hum?"

"Any more brilliant insights from the Otherworld?"

He tapped her nose lightly once. "No. Go to sleep, Doctor Crusher."

-o-0-o-

Scully awoke less than an hour later. _It must be the caffeine._

Her partner had turned on his side, throwing an arm over her back, so as she pushed herself up, he felt her moving, then stirred. "Scully?"

She spoke close to his ear. "Nature calls, Mulder. I'll be back." She checked over at the Maya, who were apparently asleep, before she slipped out of camp.

When she returned, she found Mulder standing with several of the Zapatistas, including Garcia, holding guns on him. _What did you say? If you've tried to explain their ancestors were ancient astronauts, I'd have shot you already myself._

All focused on her as she stepped out of the trees into the clearing, but her partner caught her eye before he stated defiantly, _Watch yourself, Scully._ "See, I told you she'd be back. Now, gentlemen, if you'll excuse me." He slipped into the forest as they watched.

Turning to Garcia, Scully stood her ground. "You don't need the guns." _Great, Dana, get them fired up._ "There's nowhere we could go, and you know it. Mulder will return, just as I did." They waited until her partner reappeared, then the rifles lowered, Garcia sending the Maya back to their blankets.

Scully frowned. _Blankets? When did they get those?_ She remembered the women, who must have come back after she and Mulder were asleep.

"Hey." Settling on the tarp, he reached up to take her by the arm to draw her down next to him. "You think you can sleep now?"

Scully sat beside him, her legs crossed at the ankles. "Not for a little while, anyway. You?"

He shook his head, his eyes focused on the other side of the camp.

She had no sense of anything physical in that direction, so she waited.

Mulder turned to his partner. "Ux Balam is upset with Garcia. He doesn't think his heavy-handed control is appropriate in a warrior. I don't like this, Scully."

Jose approached them. Unlike Garcia, he knew no English, only Chol and a little Spanish. But the Ancestor respected these two, and he believed in the wisdom of those who were dead. Mulder was sitting with his legs pulled up, holding himself upright by wrapping his arms around his knees. Scully had curled on her side facing away from him, her head on her hands.

The Maya held out one of the blankets, woven in the traditional way, with many bright threads in patterns unique to the family that made it. Mulder accepted the cloth, thanking him in Spanish as he had the woman with the corn. He draped it over his partner, who, despite her earlier assertion, was drowsing.

She rolled onto her back. "Mulder? Aren't you cold? I'll share." _That should get his attention._

He was still sitting up, cross-legged now, his arms wrapped around himself. "No, Scully, I'll be okay. I need to think."

But she saw he was frowning and hunched over. _No, you're about to keep yourself up all night._ Rather than fight, she rolled over to snuggle next to him, throwing half the blanket over his legs. Had this been anyone but Mulder, Scully would never have initiated an action so open to misinterpretation. But, despite his infamous video collection and the never-ending stream of teasing comments, she knew he could easily have been accused of monkery.

Scully's considerate attempt to help him rest reached him, so he complied, hearing her quiet voice in his mind, 'Doctor's Orders.' Remembering a similar situation, hearing another soft voice asking, he slid under the blanket, then tucked her head on his shoulder.

Before he knew it, Fox Mulder, Ace Insomniac, was asleep.

-o-0-o-

Mexican Rain Forest  
Tuesday, September 3, 1996  
Maya Long Count Calendar 12/19/2/9/17  
7:00 am

The light from the rising sun filtered into Rubin's tent. He stretched, then yawned. _I'm still alive! Maybe I was wrong about Evers._ He poked his head out the tent flap, seeing that Evers had started a fire and was making camp coffee. "Morning, Malcom. Sleep well?"

Evers was humming to himself. "Yup. You?"

"Well, I'm still here."

Evers glanced at him. _What does he mean by that?_

"Yah know, Malcom, this whole business with that crazy theory of Mulder's really had me worried."

"Oh?"

"I'd read the D'Amato Papers on the Net before you guys arrived, and I was convinced someone was trying to kill the FBI agents over them. Nuts, huh?"

Evers started. _He knows. Play it cool, Malcom._ "Well Tom, you hear every day about alien abductions, and then see something like that. Does strange things to your mind. Want some coffee?"

Rubins nodded. "I'll just get my mug."

Evers slid his mug behind a rock. "Looks like I'll need mine, too."

Tom Rubins poured the coffee into a beaten steel cup with no handle. He turned to the other man's tent. "Hurry up, Malcom, or it wi..."

The cooling coffee spilled out of the mug onto the ground, as unshaven, unwashed CIA Agent Tom Rubins fell on his back and was still.

-o-0-o-

Seibal Ruins  
Tuesday, 8:00 am

Walter Skinner knelt in front of one of the two tents still standing. He had roused a helicopter pilot from the arms of his Mexican mistress after royally chewing out the Washington-based CIA agents. He remembered them standing in a row, bleary and tired from their few days in the jungle. _Mulder would have fought back, regardless. There was no sport in haranguing those cultured pearls._

As the helicopter rotors whined behind him, he verified that this was Mulder's tent. The pitiful few pieces of clothing in the small bag were soaked from the rain, his razor was rusting. But the AD collected them, then checked the rest of the tent, finding three slugs embedded in the ground.

Scully's tent had suffered less damage, so its contents were dry. He found her loaded gun lying beside the torn sleeping bag, her laptop at the bottom of a small duffel bag. Retrieving her possessions as well, Skinner took the laptop outside, then flipped the screen up. _Good, DOS, not her strange LINUX stuff._ Searching her report files, he found one from Sunday, night at 11:47 pm.

"The theory that the archaeologists are missing due to some opening between the Middleworld and Xibalba, while beyond normal experience, is the only hypothesis consistent with all the facts in hand. Until such time as a better explanation can be developed, the Xibalba idea will be treated as the reason for the unexplained disappearance of Doctors Waters and Harris."

He frowned, expecting to read such a statement, not here, but in one of Mulder's infrequent solo reports. _Xibalba? What is this nonsense?_ First he had to find them, then at his leisure he would demand an explanation. Scully had used her clothing as padding for the computer, he noted, so he replaced the box in its nest, then picked up both bags to run back to the helicopter.

Alex Gonzales opened the door for the man from the FBI, leaning close to his passenger's ear to be heard over the rotors. "Where to now, Sir?"

Pulling a small black GPS receiver out of his jacket, Skinner waited for the tracking software to lock onto the satellites passing silently over head. He shouted latitude and longitude numbers in the pilot's ear corresponding to the location of Rubin's last transmission. Perhaps he would catch Evers before he killed the man, or his agents.

The two-seater lifted off the grass covered plaza, heading west.

-o-0-o-

Mexican Rain Forest  
Tuesday, 3:30 pm

All the Zapatistas were shouting in Chol, as the final confrontation between Garcia and Jose was playing itself out before the partners. Mulder had that far-away look in his eyes that told Scully he was listening to the argument through Ux Balam.

But Scully wasn't waiting for the firing to start, so she grabbed his arm, pulling him along until they found a huge toppled tree trunk for cover. She whispered his name urgently when she saw the eyes like saucers before she shook his shoulder, attempting to bring him back to her.

He blinked, then focused on her face before him as she shrugged out of a brightly colored shoulder bag. Jose had slipped over to them when they awakened, leaving the bag for Scully. She was carrying the tarp and blanket, assuming they would need both again tonight.

He touched her arm. "It's Garcia. Early this morning, Ux Balam called him a coward. Said he wasn't worthy of the Blood in his veins for threatening to shoot us last night." He peeked up over the trunk, then ducked back down. "Ux Balam has left his mind, moving into Jose's. They've been discussing Maya lore. I wish I could follow it all, but so much doesn't make sense."

"And all you're getting are impressions, not words."

He nodded, relieved that she understood. "It's so hard. The emotions I'm feeling are so powerful. They keep blocking out the real world." The march had started before sunrise, but Mulder was lost in the Otherworld as soon as he had awakened. After pulling him to his feet, she had guided his steps on the trail as if he were blind. Now he looked as he did when he returned from his dead father's house, fevered and drugged. As shots rang out, he cringed, the popping sounds drowning out the animal noises and the wind.

"Mulder!" She shook him, hard, afraid his mind was with one of the dying men in the clearing.

Ux Balam had materialized at the last instant, trying to stop the fight. But the shade of the king was still linked to Jose, her partner to Jose through it.

He gasped, then started retching. "It's Jose. Garcia has shot Jose. Scully, he's dying."

She was desperate. If a gentle touch wasn't effective, she would have to try stronger measures. She propped her partner up, then drew back her arm to strike his chin with her fist, as hard as she knew how.

He flopped on his side, propelled by the blow, but his eyes were alert. It had worked. "Ow, Scully! That hurt!" As he rubbed his jaw, she saw the blood darkening the bruised flesh while she helped him sit up.

"Mulder, I'm sorry. Are you okay?"

He winced at the pain. "Yeah, I'm okay. At least you didn't shoot me this time." He looked up at three of the guerrillas, who were pointing their rifles at them, shouting back to the others.

They stood, slowly, prepared for the worst, certain Garcia would resent the kindnesses Jose had shown them on the trail. The partners walked back to the clearing where Jose and three others lay.

Garcia was ashen, but enraged. "Find a safe place to hide, FBI?"

Mulder could just make out Ux Balam, equal parts horror and fury, hovering over the dead men's bodies.

The specter was speaking more distinctly in his head than Mulder had yet heard. _You killed your own men! Blood of your blood! There are no words for your sin!_

Scully touched her partner's arm as he swayed, buffeted by the King's emotions.

Garcia swatted at the air to block out the thoughts, before he turned on her, reaching out to stroke her face. "I should kill you both, but you could be useful. As well as beautiful." She pulled her head away, then Garcia turned to Mulder. "You will live as well. My Ancient Father will no longer communicate with me, but you are important to him."

The group resumed walking on the trail.

-o-0-o-

Mexican Rain Forest  
Tuesday, 10:00 am

Alex Gonzales pointed to the clearing where a man lay in front of a burned-out fire and a single tent. It had been the bright orange nylon he had spotted first, then circled for a closer view. From the air, the man looked like Mulder, so Skinner had gestured down.

Gonzales yelled in his ear. "It's not large enough a clearing for me to land. Get ready to jump."

Old memories and fears from Vietnam surfaced in Skinner's mind. The Assistant Director nodded, then opened the door. He jumped as the mechanized bird hovered at about the height of his head, rolling immediately to reduce the impact.

The helicopter ascended to begin wide sweeps over the jungle, looking for traces of Evers' path.

As Skinner examined the dead man's face, his relief was tempered with guilt. _It's Rubins, not Mulder._ The man had a family in Villa Hermosa, Maria had told him. There was nothing he could do for them now but find their husband's and father's killer. He checked the tent, finding that the transmitter had been smashed, preventing him from calling back immediately to the Embassy. He stepped out of the tent, waving to Gonzales.

Once he was aboard, Skinner relayed the sad news on the radio. "I'm going in after him on foot. Nothing is visible from the air." When he nodded to Alex, the helicopter dropped close to the ground. He threw an extra clip in his jacket, checked his gun in his shoulder holster, then turned to the pilot. "Hope you get things worked out with Concita. Thanks for your help."

Gonzales nodded his farewells, then Skinner jumped again.

-o-0-o-

Chiapas Highlands  
Tuesday, 6:45 pm

The agents had walked in silence, rubbing arms or shoulders as they climbed over roots and trunks. Mulder's eyes had been clear since the shooting, the specter's raging having subsided into grief. Shortly after they walked away from the bodies, rain began falling, harder than yesterday. But the group had not slowed their pace, Garcia wanting to put as much distance as possible between himself and his shame. The Maya guerrillas had been silent as well.

They were climbing now, mists enclosing them as they topped small hills. After the light faded, they realized they would not be stopping for the night, but would walk straight through. Scully began catching raindrops for water with her tongue, since without Jose, they couldn't count on any assistance from the Zapatistas. Her partner chuckled, then copied her. It was the first sound he had made, the joy in his voice in stark contrast to their desperate situation.

-o-0-o-

Ux Balam heard the laughter. He hovered over the pair, not touching the man's mind. He had no desire to bring harm to any others, too many having gone down to Xibalba since he had returned to the Middleworld. The closeness between the two reminded him poignantly of his bond with Yax-Zoc. She had joined him at the end of her life, sitting on the stone bench watching the Ballgame in the world below.

_How these whites differ from my people!_ Their women operated independent of family or kin, forming alliances on their own, as these two had, making him feel lost in this world at the end of Time. _Where are my Maya?_ He needed to warn someone of the shaking earth, but he could not trust this Garcia to do anything. The One of his Blood knew nothing of the responsibilities and sacrifices that leadership entailed, seeing only the glory of bending others to his will.

-o-0-o-

Mexican Rain Forest  
Tuesday, 8:30 pm

Evers would push on through the night as well, faster now without Rubins. He had just left the bodies. _They're falling apart, just like all the crazy 'freedom fighters' I've seen. A little adversity, some pressure, and they tear each other to shreds._ He had checked for the two agents, finding two strands of brown hair tangled in the bark of a fallen tree trunk. At least Mulder and Scully had the sense to get out of the way when the shooting started.

_Too bad._ It would have made his life a little easier, his hands free of their blood. The termination orders seemed so cruel, since they were both so alive, so careful with each other. _No regrets, Malcom. You're just following orders. It's the Consortium's decision to make, not yours._

-o-0-o-

Chiapas Highlands  
Wednesday, September 4, 1996  
Maya Long Count Calendar 12/19/2/9/18  
7:00 am

Mulder took Scully's arm, steadying her, so she smiled in gratitude. The group had halted just minutes before on the saddle of a ridge. Two of the Maya who left the group earlier now rejoined the rest.

Garcia conversed with them in Chol, then walked over to the agents. "We're almost to the village we use as our base camp. We will rest there." He was unnaturally calm, as if expecting trouble again, then the Zapatista leader waved his arm, so the rest followed him down the hillside.

At the bottom, in a clearing, stood a few dozen adobe houses and a small Catholic church, clustered loosely around a central plaza and a stone-sided cistern. Mulder was surprised at the number of buildings, since he hadn't noticed anything from the ridge.

Women came streaming out of the houses, followed by barefoot children. Some clung to their husbands, but there were four who sent up a keening mourning chant as the group trailed in.

Mulder and Scully exchanged a glance. _Did they know why their men were not returning with the others?_

Garcia gestured towards a wooden framed building. "That's where you two will be staying for a while. You'll feel comfortable there, Healer. It's our clinic. We were funded by a French group to build it and stock it with supplies. It even has a pump to bring water from the river into the building." He motioned to two of the Zapatistas, who escorted the partners inside the building.

There was no lock on the door, but the agents knew the armed men had stayed outside, so they were imprisoned here.

-o-0-o-

The pair leaned against each other, the respite coming before each was too exhausted from walking to think clearly, relieved to be able to stay dry. Their jail was a two-room house, with one open window in the back of the main room and a side room joined by an doorway, close to the front entrance.

There were no chairs or tables, only a water faucet over a steel basin. All the walls, however, were covered from stone floor to thatched ceiling, with shallow cabinets. Scully couldn't see in, but she guessed the cases held the medical supplies Garcia had mentioned.

Mulder looked down at his partner. "How are you doing, Scully?"

She glanced up, a strained expression on her face.

He answered with a worried frown. _No I'm okay, Mulder?_

Curious, she turned to her left to begin systematically reviewing the contents of the cabinets.

As he peered over her shoulder, he noted the surgical equipment in one case. "Need to send to Denver for more supplies, Michaela?"

She flashed him a very tired glance. "I'm looking for some water purification tablets. We're both dehydrated, and if we drink this water straight, we'll be dead of dysentery in a week. Ah. Here they are."

Mulder took the large beaker she holding to fill it with water from the tap.

Lifting a packet out of a box on one of the shelves, she tore it open, then dumped the tablets in. After a few minutes, they drank, making faces at the sulfur taste.

Mulder stepped into the side room, then leaned back against the wall. "Scully! A four poster bed!"

Rolling her eyes as she rounded the corner, she stopped in front of him. A lone cot was folded against the wall in the otherwise empty, narrow room that ran the full depth of the house. "Mulderrr!"

He leaned over her back, his face close to hers. "Made you look."

Sliding to the floor by the wall between the two rooms, she growled, then glanced up as he joined her. "You know we're easy prey here."

He sobered, considering. "I know, but we should have some protection. They must have sentries in the jungle, so perhaps our assassin will have a harder time reaching us than we had getting here." He scratched the three days of beard on his chin. "If you don't mind, Doctor Quinn, I'm going to use some of that tainted water and one of those razors to make myself presentable again."

She shrugged. "Sure. The supplies all look new, so I won't have to treat you for infection from a cut with a rusty blade. Quantity notwithstanding, this is the last place I want to try some frontier surgery."

He looked back at her as he crossed the room to the tap. _She smiled, that time._ When he finished, he turned, surprised she was eyeing him critically. "What, Scully, what?" He had shaved by feel with a razor from the surgical kit, but no mirror, so he wondered if he had missed half his face.

"Oh, nothing. Just envisioning you in buckskins, Mulder." She began to grin, then found herself yawning.

When she opened her eyes, he was kneeling by her. "You should get some sleep."

She raised one eyebrow. "So should you. You're the medium, I'm not, and we should keep watch." She pushed herself to her feet to emphasize the point. "I'll take the first shift."

"But you looked out for me on the trail, again. Let me set the cot up."

Scully followed him, a thousand medical-sounding reasons why he should rest first running through her head. As she waited, he unfolded the aluminum frame, placed the tarp at one end as a rudimentary pillow, then spread out the blanket.

Mulder looked over at his partner. _She won't make this easy._ "Okay, we'll try this. Flip you?" He pulled a quarter out of his pocket. "Call it in the air."

"Heads."

He smiled. _Knew how you'd call it, partner._ He grabbed the coin, then slapped it in her outstretched hand. The profile of George Washington in his wig reflected the morning light. "You win, so off to sleep you go."

"Hey, I thought if I won, I got to say that!"

His only response was a wide grin as he pocketed the two-headed coin from Gibsonton, Florida. "See you in four hours."

-o-0-o-

Maya Village  
Wednesday, 11:00 am

Malcom Evers looked down over the village from the same saddle where the Zapatistas had regrouped. _So this was their headquarters, these Maya warriors. A miserable collection of mud huts is more like it._ He snorted, scanning the surrounding forest for sentries. He thought he saw one, not a half-mile ahead, partially concealed in a tree. There was probably a loosely spaced ring at that radius from the village.

He considered his options. If he took out one, then went straight in, it would be quicker, but he couldn't be sure the others wouldn't raise an alarm. If these people were typical, there would be other spotters, further out, as well as guards in the village itself.

Scanning the huts with his field binoculars, he saw the two armed Maya at the door. Ten to one that was where the agents were held. He decided. If they were guarded, he could take them at his leisure. He would locate the sentries, eliminate them, then finish his job and go home.

-o-0-o-

Ux Balam was ecstatic, having finally found his Maya. When he saw his city, overrun by time and the jungle, but still standing, he knew his people had left voluntarily. They had not been captured in war, but had come to this place to make a new home for themselves.

They had held to many of the old ways, even though they no longer used scribes, for which he was proud. The women here were beautiful and serene, with carefree children. They lived off the forest, trading items like their blankets for metal and cotton thread.

But he had to warn someone of the shaking earth. The Adept was in Xibalba, standing on the Great Ballcourt, using the knowledge he had given him to keep his soul from the Lords of the Dead. He would not speak to Garcia again, since the sin of his descendant was too great for him to be trusted. That only left the pale-skin, Mulder, who perhaps would hear Ux Balam and warn the others.

-o-0-o-

Maya Village  
Wednesday, 1:25 pm

Too hot to sleep anymore, Scully rolled over, restless despite the dull ache in her legs. Her watch had slipped around her wrist so she twisted it back into place. _Mulder! You let me sleep for six hours!_ Dropping her feet to the floor, she stepped into the doorway, stopping immediately.

Her partner was rigid in the middle of the room, facing a scintillating white light, like the one she had seen on top of the pyramid. His lips were moving, as if he were speaking to the luminary, but he made no sounds. As she watched, the light blinked once, then vanished.

Mulder collapsed in a tangle of long limbs.

She crossed the room to him, kneeling to touch his face. He felt cold to her, then she saw he was shivering in the still, humid air. _Don't you die on me now._ Running back, she yanked the blanket off the cot to wrap him in. _That won't do, Dana._ She sat down to hold him close, relieved to feel his steady breathing.

Mulder began to revive, slowly, wrapping his arms around Scully's warmth.

-o-0-o-

At first, all he could sense were impressions and emotions. Ux Balam had taken control of his mind as he paced the room. Listening in his head, the images solidified into a single thought: shaking dirt. Waves of emotion kept breaking over him: grief, fear, anger, betrayal. Somewhere in his conscious mind, now wandering, he knew that the feelings were not directed at him, but at Garcia. That helped, but the sensations were too strong for him to resist, so he was lost in them.

When Ux Balam, grateful to have been heard, released him, the loss of connection overwhelmed Mulder, until he felt the presence of another. The calm radiating from this personality helped center him, but he could also sense fear for a dear one weighing heavily on the other with him now.

There was warmth, then, noticing how cold he had become, he reached for it. His other senses returned, smell first. Something musky, but sweet, utterly familiar. _Scully._ She was here with him, so he knew he would be recover. Second, his hearing. Scully was whispering his name, calling him. He wanted to respond to her, to tell her not to worry, but couldn't move his mouth to form words. He opened his eyes, seeing only blue. _Her shirt is blue._ Finally, he could speak again. "Scully?" His voice was barely a whisper.

"Mulder, can you hear me?" She began to turn him over, to read his level of awareness in his face.

But he forced himself to sit up, to leave the circle of her arms.

She released him reluctantly, since he was still very cold. "You okay, Mulder?"

He nodded, his eyes wide and unfocused. "Did you see him, Scully? He was right here! Talking to me."

She couldn't tell him all she had seen was a light. They would discuss this later, but now it was enough he was aware of the material world. She thought of the words of the priest to her in the confessional: "Something only you were meant to see." This then was something for Mulder, not for her. "I saw, Mulder, I saw." She pulled the blanket back up around his shoulders. "How are you, really?"

He focused his eyes on hers. "Exhausted. How are you?"

She shrugged. "All right, I guess. Let's get you to bed. It's my watch now."

The image from Ux Balam was tickling at the back of his mind as she helped him to his feet, supporting him until they reached the cot. He sank down on it, letting her tuck the blanket around him as if he was a small child. _Shaking dirt._ He would think about it later.

-o-0-o-

Maya Village  
Wednesday, 3:30 pm

The Maya guard on the path crumpled to the ground, then Malcom Evers stepped over the body. _That's the last one._ Now he could finish with his orders and leave. He had circled the village several times, finally locating the back of the house with the two guards at the door. Initially, he thought he could scale a tree in the forest, wait for the FBI agents to appear in the window, then pick them off.

But, he had discovered that another house blocked any clear shot into the window, that two others stood between the forest and his prey. He would have to shoot them from directly outside the window. He frowned. _That was too much exposure._ If he were quick about it, with the silencer, he could be in and gone before the guards thought to check their captives.

He began scouting the area around his targets, finding that only the guards were there. The women and children must be sleeping, he reasoned, shaking his head. _This siesta business was insane. Why pass up the best parts of the day because of a little heat?_ He noted the blank walls of houses that would let him slip in and out, undetected.

-o-0-o-

Ux Balam moved around the slumbering Maya, drinking in the thoughts of his people. _But they aren't really my people anymore._ They had abandoned the way of the Kings long ago. If he appeared to them now, he would frighten them, just as he had on the pyramid, except for the few who were prepared.

He thought of the pale-skinned man. Mulder *had* tried to hear him, at great cost to himself. If not for his partner, he would not have returned from the Otherworld. The shade of the king grieved. _So many lost, and I only want to help._ He wondered if Yax-Zoc missed him, if Jose and K'awil were holding their own. _I don't belong here._

-o-0-o-

Mulder murmured in his sleep. He was restless, trying to remember something, something that was very important. There were images dancing in his head, of a rectangular field with stone benches on each side. Men were playing soccer with animals. No, not soccer. The ball was red, about three feet in diameter. He wanted the images to stop. He was so tired.

-o-0-o-

Scully was checking the supplies again. It forced her to move around, so she could ignore her hunger and stay awake. _They did a good job here._ Antibiotics, _Current, too._ bandages, analgesics, insulin, splints, and most of the supplies needed to treat injuries from falls and fights.

Thinking of Mulder's Doctor Quinn jokes, she smiled. A few months back, when they had almost torn each other apart, she had turned a cold shoulder to his jests, which had hurt him worse than all the yelling. He teased her like that because he wanted to connect with her, to let her know she was important to him.

She had also learned how much he liked her to joke back, unlike her own brothers, who had ignored her sly remarks. Smiling to herself again, she realized their partnership was like a living thing, growing and developing new richness with each case.

-o-0-o-

_Shaking dirt. Shaking earth. Earth shakes. Earth quakes. Earthquake! That was what Ux Balam was trying to tell him._ Mulder pulled himself upright, throwing off the blanket.

"Scully! We've got to get..." He ran out of the side room, then squinted as reflected sunlight flashed in his eyes. _Reflections. From the window. From the outside!_ He felt two puffs of air just behind his head as he dove to knock her to the ground. Ducking as shots rang out, they kept low, listening to voices that rang across the square and running feet converging on the house.

"Just what the hell do you people think you're doing!"

Mulder and Scully stared at each other, both thinking. _Where did he come from?_

Mulder helped his partner to her feet, then they pushed the door open, finding the guards were gone. They heard more shouting and a few thumps as punches were thrown.

The agents stopped once they reached the back of the house, Garcia running up behind them, waving his pistol. Walter Skinner was wrestling with two of the Maya, his glasses hanging from one ear. But Malcom Evers lay on the ground, blood seeping from the back of his head.

The Zapatista leader rounded on Mulder, furious. "How did they find us? Tell me! Who is he?"

The tall agent shrugged. "Followed bread crumbs?"

Skinner looked up at his agents as the Maya pulled him to his feet. "Agent Mulder, if you please?"

Scully poked him in the ribs. _He'll make you pay, Mulder._

Mulder replied to Garcia's other question. "This is our boss, Assistant Director Walter Skinner. How he found us, we don't know."

The guerrillas released Skinner, who began dusting himself off, glaring at Mulder. "Agent Scully?"

She turned to Skinner. "We're fine, Sir. Thank you." She understood what had happened, even if Mulder was still sparring with the guerrilla leader, who sought to control of the situation.

Garcia was angry his Great Father had chosen to converse with the white man, but he was still in charge, so he spoke to the others in Chol, ignoring the outsiders. Mulder, Scully, and Skinner were 'escorted' back to the clinic.

Once they were alone, the Assistant Director faced his agents. "Would you two mind telling me why you're here?"

Mulder and Scully exchanged a glance.

Mulder spoke first. "Well, Sir, I had a dream, you see."

Skinner rolled his eyes. _The wild theory again. At least it had saved their lives._

His male agent continued breathlessly, "It was about canoes and twins and turtles..."

Scully touched her partner's arm. "Then he woke me up. His dream was Maya astronomical lore. We climbed to the top of the pyramid to get a better view of the sky."

Skinner held up his hands. "Okay, I'll wait for the novel. Did you know Evers was on your tail the whole time?"

Scully nodded. "We didn't know for sure who the assassin was, but the loss of the second cable told us there was one around. We expected he would follow us."

Mulder held out his hand. "But we didn't expect you, Sir. Thank you."

The Assistant Director grasped it.

It was then the shaking started.

-o-0-o-

End - Xibalba - Under the Ballcourt


	4. Frames of Reference

=====o=====================================================o=====

_Xibalba_ by Mary Ruth Keller

Part IV -_ Frames of Reference_

=====o=====================================================o=====

Maya Village  
Wednesday, September 4, 1996  
Maya Long Count Calendar 12/19/2/9/18  
4:00 pm

"Get out, now!" Skinner pushed the wooden door open. The contents of the cabinets had spilled out onto the floor. They stumbled over them, trying to keep their feet as the ground jerked and heaved.

After a minute or so, the shaking stopped. The main packet of seismic energy had passed through their region from the hypocenter 70 miles under the western mountains of Guatemala. Like Japan, the region lay close to the junction of three lithospheric plates, the North American, the Caribbean, and the Cocos.

The view that greeted their eyes was in stark contrast to what they had seen just this morning. The jungle looked unchanged, but the village was in shambles. The roof of the church had caved in where the short bell tower fell on it. Many of the adobe houses were reduced to rubble, where Scully could hear moans and cries for help from them in Chol and Spanish.

The clinic, however, was relatively intact, with only the contents of the cabinets damaged. It had been built of diagonally reinforced prefabricated panels, shipped in from Canada, flexible enough to withstand the shaking. Adobe was deadly construction material in earthquakes, but to people who had no money, building a home from sun-dried mud bricks was the best they could do.

Since Mulder had a far-away look in his eyes that Scully needed not to see right then, she turned to Skinner. "Sir, we have to get some help to these people."

The Assistant Director nodded. "We'll set the clinic back up again, get it in shape to handle patients. I had some basic medical experience in Vietnam, Scully. I think I can assist you with broken bones and the like."

Skinner and Scully had synced several times when the three had been on cases in the field, but he had been careful not to strain her complex bond with Mulder.

Garcia began shouting orders to his men. He wanted them together to hide back in the forest, since the disaster would bring humanitarian aid and outside attention to the village. He glanced back at the three agents, suspecting they would try to instigate a rescue expedition. _We have to get out of here._

Scully considered Garcia. They would need someone who could speak to the Maya for her, since Mulder knew but a little Spanish, and Skinner a few words in Vietnamese. _He's packing to leave! He'll abandon his own people to die!_ She stalked over to him, placing her hands on her hips. "Where do you think *you* are going? Your people need your help!" Her eyes blazed as she blocked his path.

"That's why I brought you here, Healer. I need to leave before the Red Cross comes and we are captured by the Mexican Government."

When Garcia attempted to step around her, she moved in front of him. "We need you to stay. They need you to stay. I can't speak your language, and they can't understand English. This was a major quake and it will be hours, if not days, before help gets to a village this isolated."

Garcia was furious. "Out of my way, woman!" He struck her, hard, with his arm, sending her slight body flying against the rough stones of the cistern. Garcia began to walk away, but was leveled by a blur of a man barreling at him. When his vision cleared, he saw it was Mulder who was sitting on his chest.

The agent struck the Maya with his fist once, then winced. _Ow! I have to stop doing that._ He leaned over, nose to nose with the guerrilla. "How can you call yourself a leader! These are your families here. Don't you know what it means to be responsible for someone else's life?" He shook the guerrilla by both shoulders. "You have to stay. No one else can do what you can do. We have to start digging people out, Now!"

Garcia began to bluster back, then sagged, realizing the partners were right. "Okay, we'll stay. But just long enough to get the wounded out of the rubble and bury the dead. Then we'll have to go."

Nodding, Mulder let Garcia up, not sure who had knocked the man down to yell at him, Ux Balam or himself. He walked over to the well, where Skinner was helping Scully to her to her feet. "Scully?" He rested a hand on her shoulder.

She nodded. "I'm fine, Mulder. Let's begin organizing the clinic. I suspect we'll be up another night or two before this is all over.

-o-0-o-

Miami, Florida  
Wednesday, 2:30 pm

Max Lowenberg opened the sliding glass door. "Caroline, dear, you'd better come and see this."

Caroline looked up from the chaise lounge, wondering how two people could grow so close in so short a period of time.

He squeezed her hand. "There's been an earthquake in Mexico. Aren't Fox and his partner down there?" She followed him into the sunny kitchen, where Max had CNN blaring from a small portable television as he cut up some fruit for a late lunch.

The announcer was speaking with a map of the Yucatan hovering over his shoulder. "...The temblor's magnitude has been estimated initially at 7.3 on the modified Richter scale. The major damage was confined to relatively uninhabited areas of the forest, with only the major city of Tapachula, Mexico affected. We take you now to Guatemala City, the capital of Guatemala for an update..."

She touched the mute button. "He was headed further up the same river we took, to a ruined city called Seibal, once he left the Embassy. That's just north of the affected area, I think. Poor Margaret, I should call her so she won't worry. Do you mind?"

Knowing Caroline and Margaret Scully were close friends, he shook his head. _They should be, considering all their children have put them through._

-o-0-o-

Scully Residence  
Annapolis, MD  
Wednesday, 2:30 pm

"Margaret Scully speaking. Oh, Caroline! Have you heard?" She was brushing the Pomeranian when she saw the news. "I hope Fox and Dana are all right. Are you home from the trip yet?"

Caroline had slipped into Max's study to use the telephone in privacy. "I hope so too, Margaret. Yes, I'm back from Mexico, but not in Chilmark. I'm down in Miami, staying with a couple from Vienna Fox and I met on the cruise."

That was technically true. She was spending the night at Benjamin and Miriam Jenkins' house, but most of the time, she was with Max. After coming to know this gentle soul, she believed he had been at Dachau with her family.

Margaret smiled. "I'm happy for you. It sounds as if you've found a few new friends, Caroline."

"There's so much I want to tell you. I never knew my son had such good manners. He was always such a solitary boy, especially after Sam was taken. And such places as we visited! The Maya ruins were fascinating. But mainly, Margaret, I wanted you to know this. I think I've met someone..."

-o-0-o-

Office Building  
Manhattan Island  
Wednesday, 4:30 pm

The elegantly dressed white-haired man gestured to his assistant, who turned off the television, then refreshed his coffee. _Well, that was an unexpected bit of luck._ With the earthquake, his assassin could be dead, or would at least have a difficult time making it back to civilization.

Potentially, this vexing problem with the D'Amato documents was eliminated for good. Now that Mulder and Scully were dead, court orders to open their safe deposit boxes could be bought, then the notebooks would disappear forever.

Without the papers, the images on the Net could be discredited as a cyberspace forgery and the Consortium's power affirmed.

-o-0-o-

Maya Village  
Wednesday, 11:45 pm

"Here's another one!" Mulder called out, pulling a timber off a woman cradling two children.

Garcia leaned in, speaking urgently in Chol.

The woman was crying softly, pointing into the wreckage. They helped the three out, then resumed digging, knowing they had one more child to save.

Scully looked up as the woman staggered through the clinic door. She was leading a small boy by the hand, who was crying loudly and bleeding from several cuts on his face and shoulder. But what concerned the pathologist the most was a little girl, pale and still, with one arm pointed off at an unnatural angle, clutched over her mother's shoulder. She immediately settled the woman against one wall, taking the girl over to the cot.

Skinner bent over the two, soothing the boy who was more frightened than hurt, as he began cleaning the cuts. He wondered if the woman was injured, but not speaking until her children were treated.

Scully felt the girl's forehead, finding no fever, just shock and this broken arm. _I've seen more of those today than I care to count._ Wrapping the girl in a blanket, she left the limb exposed, biting her lower lip at the whimpers as she set the arm, then wrapped the splints and arm in bandages. When the doctor was finished, one of the village women took the girl to hold her on her lap while sitting on the stones.

Scully nodded. _That's why they didn't have any furniture in the room. They all use the floor like this._ The women had amazed her, bringing blankets and boiling water to wash wounds, almost before she asked. She wondered which herbs they were adding to the pots. The glass vials of antibiotics had all been destroyed in the earthquake, so she could only hope the ancient remedies would do the job instead.

Mulder rushed in, carrying the third child. "He's not breathing." He laid the boy down, then stepped back to let his partner begin resuscitating him.

After a few attempts, the boy choked, gasped, then started wailing. His mother ran over, calling his name, so Scully stepped aside to let her care for him.

Scully glanced up at Mulder. "No major injuries other than that; he'll be all right. How does it look out there?"

Her partner shook his head, placing one hand on the small of her back, feeling gratified that she leaned gently into it. "We've only been through a few houses, but Garcia has been a real help. He's deployed his men to the surrounding villages to see how bad the damage is. You're the only doctor for miles, Scully. How are you holding up?"

She rubbed her face. "I'm tired, but it's good to work on something other than dead bodies for once. We'll be all right for medical supplies for a while, as long as we don't get overrun."

Having finished with the boy and the woman, their boss joined them. "I just wanted to tell you two. Before these four came in, I got through to Villa Hermosa on the Zapatista's radio in the church. There's been a major power blackout in the Yucatan, so they're on battery power only. I used the GPS to send our location, but the Embassy helicopters are busy."

His agents separated, then turned to face him, Mulder's anxiety overtaking him. "But, don't they understand the magnitude of the disaster?"

Skinner sighed. "Mexico doesn't have the same infrastructure that we expect in the US, and everything that flies has been pressed into search and rescue. We'll be here for the duration. Which leaves us with our old problem." He stared meaningfully at Scully, who dropped her eyes to the floor.

Mulder glanced from one to the other. _What happened while I was on vacation?_

The Assistant Director continued. "But I think I know how we can protect ourselves until we can get back to the States. If you will excuse me..." He pushed out the door past the partners.

Mulder watched him head to the church, then turned to Scully. "What was that about?"

She looked up at him. "Skinner was concerned the Shadows would use this as a opportunity to attempt to do something to us. But I wanted to check the tomb out, and I thought you would, too..."

Just then, one of the guerrillas, speaking rapidly, ran up to pull Mulder away.

After checking behind her to be certain the clinic contained no immediate crises, Scully stepped out into the night.

People were streaming in out of the forest, some limping, some carrying family members. The pathologist retreated from the sight. _This village still has people to pull out of ruined houses!_

She was right, earlier, it was going to be a long time before she slept again. Mulder had done them all a big favor by letting her have those extra two hours.

-o-0-o-

Maya Village  
Saturday, September 7, 1996  
Maya Long Count Calendar 12/19/2/10/0  
3:45 pm

Dana Scully leaned against the doorway, staring at the shapes of three bodies lying under blankets in the side room.

One was Evers, whose death bothered her not in the least. Her profession usually left her respect for the dead undiminished, since her autopsies were customarily performed on victims, rather than criminals. Two nights ago, however, she had watched, faintly amused, as Skinner, overwhelmed by the stench, shoved the now-rigid corpse into their last over-sized plastic bag.

But two were little children, carried from a distant village to the clinic late the previous night. One had arrived barely breathing, to expire just as she was carried inside. The other was her brother, bleeding internally as she had back in March, when Doctor Anderson's medical skills had saved her own life. Scully had looked into the pale little face, knowing there was no hope, that she could not perform the extensive series of operations that would save him under these conditions. She had made the decision with her famous clinical detachment, then died inside slowly over the next few hours along with the boy.

Now she could afford to grieve, since the patients were all either resting around the village, or on their way back to what was left of their homes. Mulder and the Zapatistas had finished searching here by Thursday, at noon, so Garcia and his men vanished soon thereafter, melting into the jungle. He kept his word to Mulder, burying the two people from the village they had not reached in time. The pitiful arrivals from the other villages had petered out early this morning.

The Assistant Director had called an associate in the States to line up several doctors, Vietnam vets like himself, to take over for her. Flying out late on Thursday, in a private helicopter, he was returning this evening, with *protection*, he had promised mysteriously.

Scully felt long fingers gently working on the knots in the cramped muscles of her shoulders. _Mulder._ Her partner had shown a remarkable amount of self-control, putting up with more broken bones and blood than he liked to see when examining corpses in the field. Perhaps it was because he was helping these people not turn into cases for a coroner that he had proven so capable.

He pressed his palms against her back. "Scully?"

She leaned into his hands. She ached all over, needing a hot bath and twenty four hours of blessed slumber before she could feel human again. She had made certain he caught naps whenever he could, knowing he was drained from encountering Ux Balam after thirty-six hours with essentially no sleep.

She blew out a breath. "I know this sounds strange coming from a pathologist." Her voice dropped. "I couldn't save them. Their parents carried them for miles, and there was nothing I could do for them once they were here." As she chewed her lower lip, a single tear slid down her cheek.

He turned her around by his hold on her shoulders to face the interior of the main room and the plaza outside. "But you did save all these others."

She looked at him, noticing first the lines in his face, then, that the three days beard was back. _Thanks, partner._ "Not just the Great Doctor Dana Scully. All the women that weren't injured, and some who were, worked every bit as hard as I did."

He shook his head. "No, they took breaks, you didn't. Now, you get to rest. I've set up a place for you to sleep in the church, private accommodations for one. This way, Mademoiselle." He offered her his arm, which she accepted with a courteous nod of her head.

They walked carefully around the people sleeping on the floor of the clinic, among the shaded pallets in the plaza, then through the side door of the church. In the empty side room off the sanctuary, he had built up a pad of plantain leaves and maize husks, wrapping the materials in the tarp. By stuffing straw into a shirt, he had constructed a reasonable facsimile of a pillow, draping the makeshift bed with the blanket Jose had given them.

She settled on the rustling mattress. "Mulder, you were right, it is a four poster bed."

They smiled at each other.

She was asleep before he closed the door to cast the room in darkness.

-o-0-o-

Maya Village  
Saturday, 6:21 pm

She awoke to the touch of his hand on her shoulder and sound of her name, spoken as he knelt by her head.

"Mulder, what is it? More patients?" The light filtering into the room behind him told her it was just before sundown.

"No, it's Skinner and he's brought the media. They want to see the famous Doctor Scully working in the jungle in a makeshift hospital for the Mexican earthquake victims."

She groaned, then rolled over. "Anything but that. Haven't we had enough exposure for one year?"

He sat next to her. "Well, it was your idea originally. Once we're on CNN, any attempts on our life would turn the spotlight onto the Shadows. We'll be safe until we reach the States. And he's brought more doctors so we can get out of here and go home."

She sat up, then, bringing her head up next to his. "They'll need to know whom to treat first. Some of these people need a real hospital to keep from being crippled the rest of their lives. Ooh!" The various parts of her body that needed more rest protested her sudden movement, but she pushed herself up to walk out the door, Mulder behind her.

The village had been transformed again. She never realized how much equipment satellite news feeds required. She could pick out, among others, CNN, CBS, NBC, and BBC reporters, all with cameramen, lights, and racks of equipment waiting to be set up in the plaza. Microphone and power cables trailed in the soil.

Skinner's protection for them was the Modern Media Circus.

-o-0-o-

Miami, Florida  
Saturday, 3:21 pm

Max had moved the TV out onto the deck, so Caroline and he could keep up with the news. Margaret called down regularly, now that she knew where Caroline was, updating her as well as trying to pry more details out of her friend about Max.

The latest report was blaring from the set. "This is Christiane Amanpour, coming to you from a village in the Guatemalan rain forest, where the survivors of the recent Tapachula earthquake have a special doctor to thank for their good fortune." Visible behind the reporter were the pallets in the plaza.

Caroline slid to the edge of her chair. _Is it they?_

"Special Agent Dana Scully is a pathologist with the FBI, here consulting with the CIA on the disappearance of two scholars in the Yucatan. When the earthquake hit, she was the only doctor these people could reach for help. Doctor Scully, you and your partner, Agent Mulder weren't supposed to be here at all, were you?" The camera turned to the agents.

Caroline noticed how exhausted they both looked.

But, her son's partner was resolute. "Yes, we were kidnapped by a group of Zapatistas operating out of this village when we were on the ruins of Seibal to the northeast..." Scully recounted their trek through the jungle, leaving out the supernatural aspects of the past few days. She and her partner answered several questions before a commercial break began. After the live feed returned, the reporter interviewed, through an interpreter, several of the Maya.

When the special report concluded, Max muted the television, then turned to her. "Caroline, now that they are safe, I'd like to ask you a favor."

She looked over.

"Would you stay here through Yom Kippur? The Temple services are so wonderful, and something tells me you haven't celebrated Rosh Hashannah for years. I know Miriam won't mind."

She knotted her hands. She had so hoped he would ask, but now she wasn't sure. "Max, thank you. Let me think about it. I've had a lovely time here with you and the Jenkins."

"But you want to go to your own home after all this travel?"

She considered the big silent house in Chilmark, with the shrinking days and cold winds. _No, that had never felt like home._ But she was, technically, a widow for less than a year. _And Fox. How would he feel about this new person in her life after all their years apart?_

"Caroline?"

She saw Max was waiting for an answer. "No, it's not that, Chilmark isn't home, not really. Give me until Rosh Hashannah, then I'll decide. My tickets are for the fifteenth anyway. I'll just delay them for two weeks if I change my mind."

They held hands.

-o-0-o-

Office Building  
Manhattan Island  
Saturday, 5:15 pm

The elegant man had witnessed the same broadcast as Max and Caroline. Mulder and Scully had obviously survived the attempts on their lives. With all this media attention, the Consortium could not act, not immediately.

But other pressures could be brought to bear. The death of a loved one, perhaps? Dana Scully had a mother and two brothers. Even if she lost one, she still had a family, but Mulder only had his mother. They had recently taken a vacation together just before this case. Strike at her now, then he would be lost.

_And I know whom to use._ His chain-smoking associate in Washington was subtly shielding Mulder. Recalling the man's life, he thought he knew why. _Very well, a test._ He asked his associate to dial Washington. _Let's see where your loyalties truly lie. Ah, the phone._

When he heard the call connect, he spoke without the initial pleasantries. "It seems your suggestion to leave them alone was correct. They do have a knack for staying alive. Well, if not them, then someone close to them. We have to get those notebooks back for the sake of continued stability. I want you to eliminate Mulder's Mother." He heard the sharp intake of breath. "I want you to handle it personally. There will be no slip-ups this time, correct?"

The voice that answered was strained through clenched teeth. "It will be taken care of."

"Personally?"

There was a pause.

"Personally."

The call was disconnected.

-o-0-o-

Washington, DC  
Saturday, 5:30 pm

Taking another puff of the Morley, the old spy stared at the chair in front of his desk Caroline had occupied. He couldn't do this. _I have to do this. It's my life or hers. And even if I die, they'll still go after her._ But how? He knew his superior expected him to stand over Caroline Podhowitz and put a bullet in her brain. _No. Not that._ He was afraid he might lose his nerve if he had to look at her again, remembering her promise.

An explosion. Yes, blow up the house at Chilmark, incinerating her remains in the maelstrom, so he would never have to see her again, dead or alive. He would have his agents lay the charges, but he would detonate the explosion himself, fulfilling his promise to his superior in New York.

For good measure, he would level the West Tisbury home of Bill Mulder that neither of them had had the heart to sell. Then perhaps Mulder and Scully would understand what they had done, so they could be persuaded to turn over the notebooks, rather than risk further loss of life.

_When?_ Caroline was in Miami now, but would fly north in a few days. The computer hackers in his organization could access any system in the country, so he knew she had tickets home next Sunday. His operatives could lay the charges without risk of detection. Her death would follow the return of the agents to the States, but not so late that the son would have sufficiently recovered from his ordeal. Let Mulder suffer, as he had, for years.

-o-0-o-

Maya Village  
Saturday, 10:30 pm

Fox Mulder could tell his partner was past the point of exhaustion. She was moving mechanically from the clinic to the pallets in the square, reminding the doctors Skinner had flown in what care each patient needed. The six friends of his from Vietnam were rested and healthy.

Finally, he stood in the clinic door on one foray inside, blocking her exit by holding on to the doorframe. "Scully, whatever it is, they have it. You've told them three times about the boy with two femurs ruined by rickets. Skinner knows what's wrong with most of these people, you've said it so often." He smiled, hoping she would stop.

But she marched straight up to him to glare in his downturned face. "Agent Mulder, out of my way. We'll be leaving soon, and some of these children need tetanus shots."

He took hold of both of her wrists. "No. We won't leave until it's light, so you get to rest now. You've had six hours sleep over the past three days and even I couldn't function on that. Let the other doctors do some of the work. Okay?" Somehow the logic of his words reached her.

She surrendered to her fatigue. "Okay, I'll get some more use out of that four-poster bed. What about you?"

He leaned into her face. "Well, that mattress is big enough for two very friendly people, if you're asking."

She gave him the Look.

_Good enough, G-man._ "No? You wound me, partner."

They grinned at each other. He pressed his arm against her back at the waist, walking her across to the church.

When he opened the door, she saw that a cot with a sleeping bag was set up on the other side of the small space, as well as their two bags from Seibal. _Skinner must have brought more than medical supplies._

His breath, warm and moist, passed over her ear. "I'll be right here, should you get lonely, otherwise, Good Night, Scully."

They dropped into their respective beds, Mulder hoping that his sleep would be untroubled by dreams of Ballgames, Cosmic Monsters, and twins in Canoes. Scully hoped nothing at all, since she was asleep almost as soon as she lay down.

-o-0-o-

Ux Balam hovered over the agents, realizing how completely they had proven their mettle to him. Truly there were nobles among the whites, like himself, who understood the meaning of leadership, as the One of his Blood did not. For each sacrifice, a sacrifice, then. He knew what he had to do.

-o-0-o-

Xibalba  
No place  
No time

Ux Balam hovered, unnoticed, by the end of the Ballcourt. "Great Lords!"

The ball bounced out of play, unheeded by the participants. Itzam-Yeh turned his huge feathered head towards the voice. The gods with heads of alligators, the skeletal Lords of Death, and Itzam-Balam, the man with the head, paws, and tail of a jaguar, all turned.

Itzam-Yeh, the sky god of the Maya, resplendent in scarlet plumage more iridescent than any earthly macaw's, challenged Ux Balam. "Who comes here?" He rotated on his birds' feet, looking down at the shade of Ux Balam, standing alone and defiant. "You? You were returned to the Middleworld. Why are you here in Xibalba?"

"I have come to offer a sacrifice, Great Lords. There are two who do not belong here, who were taken unawares."

The gods of the Maya roared in laughter, a spectral sound that shattered the blackness.

Itzam-Yeh bobbed with delight. "All but a few come here unawares, oh King. Why are these special?"

Ux Balam pointed to the pale-skins, taking a rest beside him on the Court's edge. The Lords laughed before he could speak.

Itzam-Yeh ruffled his magnificent feathers. "Them? They knew of our myths, and you have taught them well. Their souls are safe, so go back."

Ux Balam stood his ground. "They should not be dead. It was an accident that they opened the way to Xibalba. Let them go."

Itzam-Yeh stamped his feet, irritated by the king's persistence. "Who are you, little King, that we should just let them go? Who can you offer to play with us?"

Ux Balam grew intense. "Myself, Lords of Xibalba. I will come back to the Ballcourt and play to the end of Time with you, if you let them go."

Itzam-Yeh flew over the court, landing in front of Ux Balam's shade to fix one glittering eye on him. "Very well, let it be so. You were always more innovative in your Game than the others."

Ux Balam bent to speak to the archaeologists, before he disappeared from the edge of the square to reappear on the Ballcourt. The scholars vanished. The people of Seibal shouted for their champion as he waved to Yax-Zok.

He looked to K'awil and Jose, calling him by his Maya name, Hunahpu. They would give the Lords of Death great sport indeed.

-o-0-o-

On Wednesday, September 11, 1996, Doctor Robert Harris and Doctor Steven Waters walked in the front door of the American Embassy in Villa Hermosa. Oblivious to the uproar their appearance caused, they asked first after their students, then about their artifacts.

-o-0-o-

Maya Village  
Sunday, September 8, 1996  
Maya Long Count Calendar 12/19/2/10/1  
7:15 am

Richard Matheson's feet crunched on the rocky soil of the plaza as he walked beside Walter Skinner to the side door of the church. "Walt, you should have called me first, not let me see this on CNN."

The Assistant Director was immensely proud. Over the past few months, he had worked to smooth over whatever difficulties had forced the Senator to distance himself from the X-Files. Now, the grey-haired Democrat was staunchly in their camp again.

Skinner nodded. "Rich, I didn't know how big this was, otherwise I would have." He pulled the narrow wooden door open, illuminating the interior of the windowless room.

Mulder, on his back, jerked upright when the light hit him. In the night, he had been awakened by animal sounds, digging until he found Scully's SIG in her bag. Now, he blinked, reaching for it to aim at the door.

Skinner pushed Senator Matheson out of the line of fire. "Agent Mulder!"

Mulder pursed his lips in embarrassment as he lowered the SIG. He slid off the cot to bend over Scully, who was stirring on her side, facing away from him. "Scully, get up, Dad's here, and we have to get ready for school."

She turned over, seeing first his face, then Skinner and Matheson in the doorway. "Sir? Senator?" She ran her fingers through her hair as she sat up, trying to look as presentable as possible, then sighing at the futility of her actions. _I haven't had a shower since Wednesday, and that was only if getting drenched by rain counts._

The Senator stepped into the small room. "Agent Mulder, Agent Scully, if you will come with me, you two have an appointment with the President of Mexico."

The partners glanced at each other.

"What?" Mulder looked to Skinner, who was still outside, for confirmation.

The Assistant Director inclined his head once. "That's right, people. Apparently all this-" He waved his hands at the cameras behind him. "-won't protect you for long. But the Senator's idea just might. So?"

The Senator stepped back outside to wait by their boss.

Scully reached for her bag, finding it open, the contents ransacked.

Mulder crouched beside his partner. "I found your gun. I heard animals outside." He held it out for her.

"Thanks." She took it, removed the clip, then tucked both in the bag, hurriedly packing the clothes back around the computer. As they walked out, she slung the strap over her shoulder then grabbed the blanket, trailing it along behind her.

Mulder chuckled, then leaned over, his lips close to her ear. "You won't get that past the teacher, Linus."

Senator Matheson's helicopter sat in a clearing beyond the village. As they boarded, Scully flipped the blanket over her shoulder, then poked her partner's ribs. "Did too, Lucy."

While the rotors spun up, the Senator leaned back from the front seat to yell something in Mulder's ear.

Scully prodded her partner as he sat back. "What?"

He pulled her head close to his. "We should be in Mexico City by the afternoon, after stopping at the embassy in Villa Hermosa. Matheson wants us to look good for the cameras when we get our medals."

She put her face next to his ear, cupping her hand to speak and be heard over the whine of the rotors. "What medals?"

"Their equivalent of our medal of Honor. The Shadows have two governments to worry about now, not just one. And think how it'll look on your resume, Scully."

They settled back for the trip.

-o-0-o-

Miami, Florida  
Sunday, 2:30 pm

Caroline grabbed the phone on the first ring. "We're watching, Margaret."

CNN was carrying the ceremony live, with the translation of the President of Mexico's speech appearing at the bottom of the screen. Once finished, he draped a medal over the bald head of Walter Skinner, the now clean hair of Dana Scully, and the shaved face of Fox Mulder. Both of partners looked uncomfortable at all the formality and trappings, but Skinner took it in stride, having been decorated in Vietnam.

Caroline spoke into the receiver. "They look so drawn, Margaret. The past week must have been terrible."

-o-0-o-

Somewhere over the Gulf of Mexico  
Sunday, 8:30 pm

Richard Matheson leaned over Mulder's shoulder. "Walt wants to get back to DC immediately. Where should I drop you two?"

Mulder turned away from the window to glance up at the Senator. He frowned momentarily, then looked over at his partner, who was sitting by herself in the front of the legislator's private jet, before he responded. "Let me speak with Scully, Sir." _She's been too quiet since the ceremony._ He walked over to her, worried.

When they boarded the plane, she had moved to a different part of the cabin from the three men, claiming a lack of sleep.

He touched her shoulder. _But she hasn't closed her eyes since we took off. She's been alternately staring at that medal and out the window for the past two hours._ "Hey, pretty lady, this seat taken?"

She looked up at him, smiling briefly. "My mother warned me never to talk to strange men on airplanes."

Grinning, Mulder slid into the seat beside the pathologist, bumping shoulders as he leaned over to study her eyes. "Matheson wants to know where we would like to go, once we reach the States. Any thoughts, partner?"

She sighed, looking back out the window, then as she turned to face him, the overhead light caught two vertical tracks, one down each cheek. "I don't understand how these medals will help us." The baffled agents had discussed this new turn of events after they quickly showered and changed at the Embassy. "Could you get anything out of Director Skinner or the Senator?"

He shrugged. "No, only significant stares."

She glanced at her lap. "Oh. We should warn our Mothers. This isn't over yet. If we were chased all the way into the Chiapas Highlands, close family members may be next."

"I know. I'm planning on asking the Gunmen to sweep our apartments for wiretaps or bombs as soon as we land. So, Annapolis?"

She nodded. "Yes, we don't know exactly where your Mother is in Miami, but I'll bet my Mom's been burning up the phone lines with her ever since she set foot in the Sunshine State."

"With your luck, Scully, Miriam has joined in, and they're arranging for double nuptials with all the trimmings."

She chuckled at the thought.

He leaned over to whisper in her ear as he started to rise from the seat. _Let's get rid of the tears._ "Of course, Dad back there could keep his retirement fund if we just eloped."

She laughed out loud, wondering how he could lift her spirits so quickly, then glanced back at a puzzled Walter Skinner.

He paused, then touched her arm. "Oh, and that other thing that's bothering you, but you don't want to talk about yet. I'm here for you, Scully, no matter what. Okay?"

She nodded, covering his hand with hers.

-o-0-o-

Observing the interaction between the agents, the Senator turned to Skinner. "They always this close?"

The Director nodded, ignoring the past fall, when he was concerned he would have to separate the partners before they shot each other. "Yes. It has made it tough working in the field with them the past few months."

"You've been in the field?"

Skinner replied through gritted teeth. "Strings, Rich. They were given the X-Files back, and I was given strings that could be yanked."

The Senator studied the indentations in the left armrest from Skinner's grip. "I think I can help you with that problem, too, Walt."

-o-0-o-

Office Building  
Manhattan Island  
Sunday, 7:30 pm

"I've seen enough." The long hand waved at the television. "If you would be so kind."

His assistant touched a button, then the now dark screen vanished behind a descending marquetry panel. He knew his superior disliked electronics, despite their necessity. His compromise with the Modern Age involved camouflaging the state of the art surveillance and communications equipment behind raised wooden panels, stained glass, and Old Masters. When the elegant head inclined towards the door, once, the younger man left.

The white-haired man steepled his fingers. _This changes everything._ The media circus would have been a passing distraction, then he could have resumed his pursuit of the D'Amato notebooks in a matter of weeks. But, while the cameras focused on the President and the three FBI agents, he saw the faces of the nameless men in grey suits behind the glitz and glitter.

Power among the shadows was not distributed as it was in the visible governments, where Mexico was seen as the weakest of the NAFTA triad. There were secrets in Mexico that needed to remain concealed, but if the agents were killed now, elements of the shadow government in Mexico would be required by the visible one to assume the causes pursued by Mulder and Scully. The Consortium's southern counterpart would not hesitate to use such a moment of weakness to enhance its own standing.

_Enhancing their own standing._ This brought him back to the assignment he had given his associate in Washington. Would the test he had devised affect this matter in any way? If the Smoker lost his nerve and failed in his mission, then he could remove his senior agent from any significant position for having exhibited weakness and irresolution. If the old spy succeeded, then he would leave the comforts of these tasteful walls to use his personal contacts with Agent Scully to point the finger of blame back to his chain-smoking operative. Agent Mulder would act as his Mother's Avenging Angel, ridding him and the Consortium of both troublesome men. _Let the test proceed, then._

-o-0-o-

Annapolis, MD  
Monday, September 9, 1996  
Maya Long Count Calendar 12/19/2/10/2  
11:45 am

Margaret Scully was changing the sheets on Dana's bed to the flannel ones she had purchased at Potomac Mills, before adding an extra blanket. She wanted to be ready just in case her daughter stopped by during the autumn before Thanksgiving. _That's the dog. Someone must be at the door._ She hurried down the stairs, hearing muffled barks. When she entered the main floor hallway, his little claws were scratching the wood panels. _It must be Dana._

She entered the living room, finally getting a clear view out the window in the door. It was her daughter, her partner beside her. _They look just as tired as they did on CNN Sunday._ She hugged Dana, then Fox. Mulder flinched, as he usually did, not expecting her to hold him so tightly. They were both thinner than they should be, but he looked happy.

Scully picked up the Pomeranian, holding him up over her head, then cuddling him. "Was Mister Red Wiggles a good boy?" The little dog's tail was shaking most of his rear half.

Margaret laughed, looking to Mulder. _Dana!_

He grinned back, glad to have escaped from matchmakers and guerrillas to this island of calm.

Margaret Scully felt for him. _Poor boy, he doesn't know how close Caroline and Max are._

Scully scratched the dog's ears and chin thoroughly before putting him back down on the rug, where he spun in circles of delight.

Mulder touched Margaret's elbow. "Mrs. Scully, do you know where my Mom is?"

She faced him. _Dana's partner is nothing if not direct._ Having learned that about him during Dana's abduction and recovery, she decided not to elaborate her response. "She's in Miami, with Max Lowenberg, and a Benjamin and Miriam Jenkins. Didn't she leave you a message?"

Mulder shook his head. "We haven't been to our apartments yet. We wanted to warn both of you that the situation with the D'Amato papers seems to be heating up again. Have you seen anything strange around the house or neighborhood in the past week or so?"

Margaret considered. "No, Fox, I haven't. No black cars, or people skulking around the house. Mr. Wiggles makes a good watchdog, and he would have let me know if anyone was here." She turned to her daughter. "He barks furiously every time the mailman stops by. And the furnace repairman practically ran out of the house in terror. He was trying to bite his ankle."

The partners exchanged a glance before Scully queried. "Did you say furnace, Mom?"

"Yes, dear, but I always get the unit checked out before the temperatures turn colder. You know that."

Mulder stepped closer to his partner's mother. "Mrs. Scully, did you know the man by sight?"

She was horrified at what they were implying. "No, he said John was laid up and he was taking his shift. But you don't think they'd put a bomb...?"

The agents raced to the stairs.

"Dana! Fox!" Margaret called after them, then headed for the basement door herself.

-o-0-o-

Scully was crawling around behind the furnace when Margaret arrived. Mulder was looking up in the overhead beams, checking for recent marks or holes.

The Pomeranian bounced down the stairs as fast as he could, immediately joining Scully, scratching and snuffling. He loved it when people did dog stuff.

Margaret leaned on the doorframe. "It's okay, you two."

Her daughter poked her head out, then her partner looked over at the two Scully women.

Margaret waved her hand helplessly. "I tried to tell you upstairs, but you ran off. The man never got down here. Sweetie there chased him around the living room and he left."

Mulder regarded the dog with a little respect as well as some surprise. "Well, score one for the Red Menace." He crossed the room, offering Scully a hand up. "Be careful, Mrs. Scully. Don't let anyone in unless you know them, and know them well enough to be able to tell if they're not quite themselves."

Margaret took a step back, shocked. "You two aren't planning on disappearing anytime soon, are you?"

Scully met her mother's eyes. "Not if we can avoid it." She glanced up at her partner. "Except for the airplane flight home, we've both been on our feet, literally, for almost a week, now. But we wanted to make sure you and Caroline Mulder were okay."

Mulder put his hands on his hips. "And stay that way, Mrs. Scully. Do you know how I can reach my Mom?" Margaret read the worry in his darkening face and hunched pose.

"Yes, I do. Come upstairs, I have Max's number in my address book."

The Pomeranian continued snuffling. _Hey, this is a really *good* *smell*!_ He barked once, then looked up as the people were headed back upstairs. _Why do they always run off when things are getting interesting?_ He pounded after them, not wanting to miss anything else important. There were few people barks he understood, but the magic call to 'lunch' had just been sounded by the older woman. _For them, of course, not little old me. I'll try begging._

-o-0-o-

Margaret and Dana Scully were making sandwiches at the counter while Mulder talked on the kitchen wall phone, pacing in the hallway, stretching the cord to its maximum extension.

"Yeah, Mom, we're okay. Really, we are, just tired."

A pause.

"Mom, don't panic. Just keep a watch out. If you see anyone strange hanging around, wherever you are, just leave. "

Another pause.

"Yes, Mom, even in the middle of lunch, just leave the money and go." He leaned against the door, his shoulders sagging. "Oh, and Mom?"

He waited.

"Don't go home yet. Let us check the house out for explosives and wiretaps. And when you do, change your airline tickets, use a different carrier, something. Please, Mom, I'll pay. Yes, yes, love you too. Bye."

As he crossed the room to hang up the phone, Margaret took him by the arm. "Sit down, Fox, have something before you leave. Dana tells me you walked through the jungle for two days and a night, then didn't really eat again until late Saturday."

He was grateful for her concern, wolfing down three bologna sandwiches before Margaret Scully's phone rang again.

His partner answered. "Scully. Frohike? It's clean? Mulder's too?" She swallowed the bite of tofu burger she was chewing. "No, I will not give you back rubs for the next thirty years to show my gratitude!"

She rolled her eyes at her partner, who snorted.

"No, not even one. Frohike! Never! I'm at my Mother's! No! Goodbye!"

Margaret began laughing at her daughter's expression of utter frustration, then turned to Mulder, who was slowly drinking a glass of root beer. "He's the one?"

Mulder nodded before looking back at his partner, to query her with a raised eyebrow.

She dipped her head once in response. "They're both clean. No hidden cameras, no wiretaps, no bombs. We can go home. How is your Mom?"

Mulder shrugged. "She's okay. She's with Max almost constantly, so I warned him to keep an eye out as well. Anyone who survived a concentration camp can probably take good care of my mother."

Margaret refilled Mulder's glass. "I should say so, Fox." She looked from one to the other. "Do you both have to go back now? Stay here tonight. You look like you could use the rest."

The partners exchanged a glance, then nodded their agreement.

Scully looked up at her mother. "Okay, Mom, but just for tonight. I'd like a hot bath. Getting drenched twice and a quick shower at the Embassy just isn't the same."

Mulder concurred with Scully, but then, she never had trouble convincing him to stay at her Mother's.

-o-0-o-

Washington, DC  
Tuesday, September 10, 1996  
Maya Long Count Calendar 12/19/2/10/3  
5:45 pm

"Yes?" A cigarette burned in the ashtray while the old man answered the phone.

"The explosives are in place? Just as instructed?" The leather chair squeaked as he turned to face the window.

"Very well. Send me word when the target is in the air." He placed the receiver in its cradle.

He wanted to weep, but after so much time, tears were no longer a response his body knew. Caroline Podhowitz, the woman who had joked with him over lunch all those years ago, was the target. Her only crime was agreeing to marry a man she didn't love for the security it provided a stranded, familyless refugee.

Now the cold, lonely house in Massachusetts would be her place of execution. _At least she would be warm, once._ The sudden horror of his plan struck him.

He stood, looking out over the city, remembering her words: You are a monster!

_Well, Caroline, you were right._

-o-0-o-

Miami International Airport  
Miami, Florida  
Sunday, September 15, 1996  
Maya Long Count Calendar 12/19/2/10/8  
9:30 am

"Max, are you sure about this?" Caroline Mulder stood at the gate, ready to board, holding Max Lowenberg's hand.

The white-haired man chewed his mustache. "Yes, dear, I am. Your son, the FBI agent, suggested we do all the things they will expect." As Caroline began to protest, he stopped her by covering her mouth with one finger. "But this is Max Lowenberg, not Maxwell Smart, talking. Sometimes the best place to hide is in plain sight. Do you trust me?"

When she nodded, he smiled at her. "Then let's go. I've always wanted to see New England in the autumn."

-o-0-o-

Washington, DC  
Sunday, 10:15 am

The phone rang once. The old man answered, lighting another cigarette. He nodded as the caller spoke, then responded.

"She is on the flight? Then I am on my way."

-o-0-o-

Chilmark, Massachusetts  
Sunday, 4:37 pm

He looked down from the ridge through binoculars. He had pulled all his agents away from the house, sending them back to the hotel. He was to take care of this personally, so he would have these last moments to himself. He heard her Plymouth approach along the grey driveway, watched her get out, _Who is that? A man?_ then enter with her guest through the front door. He waited until he saw movement upstairs in the bedroom, then reached in through the open rear window to retrieve the detonator.

_Goodbye, Caroline._ He closed his eyes, taking his time for his farewells, then he pressed the button, watching everything as if it were in slow motion. First, nothing, then little puffs of smoke out of a few windows. A few cracks and pops were audible. Finally the inferno began. He knew a similar firestorm was raging in West Tisbury as he punched in a Manhattan phone number.

"It is done." He realized the leaping flames were purifying him of the last of his soul.

-o-0-o-

Apartment 42  
Arlington, VA  
Sunday, 10:30 pm

"That was different, Scully. I'm not used to seeing Kenneth Branagh play a villain, and do so well at it." The final credits to "Othello" were rolling up the screen as Mulder pointed the remote with his right hand, stopped the tape, to set it rewinding.

He was slumped on his futon, long legs propped up on the coffee table, his left arm stretched along the back. At the film's start, Scully had settled in by his side, balancing a large bowl of popcorn on their joined laps.

During one of the many battle scenes added in the film to the play, her partner, a purist when it came to the Bard, muttering about knee-crooking knaves and cuckolds, had decided on a little audience participation. White particles flew, first at the screen, then at the fishtank, then at herself.

She reciprocated in kind, until she saw the mess, when he had to keep her from cleaning. ("I have a service, Scully." "Mulder!" "The pan-dimensional beings are hungry?" "Mulder!") She had flopped on the futon, feigning disgust while tucking her feet up on her left.

Delighted to have tweaked her, he had plopped down, just as hard, sliding until he was flush against her right side. ("You stopped the video, Scully!" "You weren't paying attention, anyway." "We might as well finish watching it.") Contented, the pair remained in place, drawing strength from each other.

On Tuesday, Skinner had put them on administrative leave for the rest of the week, telling them to go home and consider the events of the last case. Scully had been very quiet during the meeting and afterwards as they packed to depart. She had asked him to come to her apartment for the dinner, then they had spent most of the time together, talking and recovering from the ordeal. But she never said what was bothering her, even though she would eventually, Mulder knew.

So they were finally here, on Sunday, night, watching Laurence Fishburne play the Moor of Venice. The record amount of snow that had fallen the past winter had kept Scully from seeing the film during its limited run.

Still leaning against his side, she turned to face him. "He was breaking up with Emma Thompson during the filming, and I'm sure that helped. But, he is an *actor*, you know, *master* *thespian*, and all that."

"Speaking of Emma, I never told you how glad I am you dragged me to S_ense and Sensibility._ I never could get into Austen at Oxford."

They had seen the film during their recovery from the beating by D'Amato's men. She would never forget silently finding each other's hands during Elinor's scene at the bedside of her deathly ill sister, Marianne. The potential loss they were witnessing on the screen had resonated with a grief each had felt too deeply. Mulder's cellphone jangled, so she sat up straight to let him answer it.

He spoke quietly for a few minutes, then terminated the call. "That was the Chilmark police. There's been an explosion."

She rested her hand on his arm. _I'm here, partner._

He stood up to begin pacing, then dialed Max's phone. When the answering machine picked up, he ended the call, then dialed Margaret Scully. "Hi, Mrs. Scully? This is Mulder. Do you have the phone number of the Jenkins'?"

He paused.

"No, I think everything's okay. Thanks. No, Scully's fine. Bye."

He glanced over at her, then punched in the new number.

"Miriam, this is Mulder. Yes, Fox Mulder, good to speak with you, too. Let me speak to Benjamin, please."

Another pause.

"Benjamin, hi. I can't get an answer at Max's, so would you..."

He froze. "They what? When? Yeah, thanks."

The phone clattered to the floor as he sank back onto the futon.

Scully touched his wrist. "Mulder, what's wrong?"

He was shaking, covering his face with both hands.

Scully reached down to retrieve the phone, then end the call, before she pushed the coffee table aside, to kneel in front of him. She pulled his hands away, seeing wide dark eyes full of horror and pain.

"She and Max flew back to Chilmark this morning, Scully. They must have been in the house when it exploded." He burst off the sofa, grief and rage combining in a volatile mix. "Why? I told her not to! I thought Max could take care of her." He punched the wall by the fishtank. "I should have been there..."

When the phone rang again, Scully took the call, since her partner was in no shape to handle anything else. "Scully. No, he can't come to the phone right now." Relieved to have someone here tonight, he watched her speaking. "I'll tell him. Thank you."

A strained voice emanated from the face contorted by the storm about to break from within. "Who is it?"

She composed her thoughts before answering, then met his hooded eyes. "That was the police in West Tisbury." _Why this, why now?_ She didn't have to tell him.

Mulder knew already, that all of his childhood, as well as all physical evidence that a Samantha Mulder ever existed was gone.

She stood up, mentally preparing for the tempest that would follow.

For the next hour, his rage owned him, punching doors, shouting, blaming himself as he always did. Drained, he collapsed in his front room, where she held him through great choking sobs that racked his lean frame. At last, emptied, he raised his head to look at her. "Why, Scully, why?"

She pushed the loose hair off his forehead. "I think we both know why, Mulder."

He nodded, understanding dawning slowly. _The notebooks. It was all about those yellowed papers in the safe deposit boxes._ "But nothing has ever come of the postings. Nearly all the people in them are dead, and I'm sure the physical evidence had long since disappeared."

She shook her head. "It's simpler than that. We beat them. We took on the Consortium with all its power, connections, and influence, stole something they wanted, and then threw it in their faces."

He sat up, considering. "Yes. They attempted to get us out of the way in Mexico so they could remove the papers and discredit the evidence to protect their prestige, not because they were useful. What have we done?"

"I don't know. We were only trying to stay alive at the time, just like we were last week."

He took her by both shoulders, his eyes blazing with determination. "But we can't let them win, regardless. With my Mom gone, all they can do is come after me. Scully, promise me that you won't let them have the papers, no matter what."

She looked at him. _We're in this together._ "Mulder, I..."

He shook her gently. "No matter what, Scully!"

She acquiesced, placing one hand on his arm. "No matter what, Mulder."

-o-0-o-

J. Edgar Hoover Building  
Monday, October 28, 1996  
Maya Long Count Calendar 12/19/2/10/11  
8:30 am

Dana Scully placed her briefcase on her desk, then pulled out her chair to sit behind it. Saturday, she received a registered mail notice in her box, but since she had been in Annapolis until late Sunday, night, she hadn't seen it. Now she was staring at the airmail letter she had exchanged for a pink slip at the Merrifield Post Office this morning. _Quite a drive for just this._

The blue envelope bore no return address, but showed no tell-tale signs of tampering or explosives. Curious, she slit one end, then peeked in. _Only paper, Dana._ She removed the sheets to begin to read.

-o-0-o-

J. Edgar Hoover Building  
Monday, 9:30 am

Mulder pulled into the underground parking lot, hoping to find a space this late. He was in luck, nabbing one on the ground level, close to the exit. _Won't happen again in a million years, G-man. Or would it?_

Entering the stairwell, he reminisced. Since his mother's death, X had met with him, telling his briefly that he was out of danger for the present, but not to make waves. Skinner stopped going on cases with them, having been placed on a governmental oversight task force by Senator Matheson.

As he thought, he continued moving mechanically to their basement office, not aware of waiting for the elevator, or the ride down.

He had not brooded over his mother's death, and now he found himself wondering why. _You know why._ When his sister had been taken, no one had been there to help him grieve, his parents so stricken by Samantha's loss they had turned on each other. The family broke in two, pulling the boy between them.

When his father died in his arms, Scully had been there until Melissa's death, then she too had retreated behind a wall of pain. The fight forced on them in February had shattered that barrier, when they had stood together against an old adversary for the first time in many months.

Now, it seemed she was always there for him, a gentle touch on his shoulder at work, a calm friend at dinner, a soothing voice on the phone in the darkness. The times when the pain had been too deep, she had been there as well, holding him while he wept, just as she had that horrible Sunday, when it happened.

Oftentimes, he would lift his head from her arm to glimpse tears glistening in her eyes as well, reminding him that he was not the only one who had suffered irreparable losses. He had tried to be there for her, too, as he had promised. Between his dark periods when she was his strength, he would notice her grieving, convinced it had to be for her lost sister. Then, he would wait for her, to try to draw her out, but she would only respond with her usual 'I'm okay.'

At work, or on a case in the field, they were functioning smoothly again, thinking alike and finishing each other's sentences, just as before the trip to Mexico. But her lovely quirky sense of humor, that dry sarcasm he baited her to hear, was gone. She didn't even pause when he would come up with extra-normal explanations for their X-Files. _She isn't forcing me to justify myself to her anymore._ That concerned him. While he had helped her recover from her second surgery, they had worked through several open X-Files, at her insistence. It had been one of the best times of their partnership. True, he was gathering evidence alone, but they had spent long evenings taking his suggestions, stringing the clues that would support his ideas together. Towards the end of her recuperation, she had been throwing out theories that he had to admit, were often better than his.

Now, that was all gone. He knew he wasn't always right so needed her to punch holes in his conjectures. Even the insane supposition that Elvis was living in the Northwest woods with the Sasquatch, preparing for his Big Comeback, drew no response. No Looks, no 'Mulder!', no hands on the hips, 'Mulder-you-can't-be-serious...', nothing, just a quiet nod of the head. Whatever was bothering her was taking a long time to work through, but unlike last year, he was prepared to give her all the time she needed.

He walked down the hall to their shared office, thinking of the flyer he had received in the mail on Saturday, when they were visiting her mother's. Perhaps this evening he could repay in kind the pleasant time they had spent together on his birthday, with a quiet dinner and a lecture on a topic with which they were both familiar.

-o-0-o-

Scully looked up when he entered, relieved that he was finally in. The contents of the letter had given her the push she needed to make a decision. She re-folded several blue sheets of paper, stuffing them inside the airmail envelope, then smiling at the quizzical expression he shot her.

He stood before her desk. _At least I see some life in her eyes today._ "Scully, care for some education tonight?"

She looked surprised and slightly hurt. "Work here is a continuing education, Mulder."

He held the flier in front of her face, watched the light drain from her eyes, then cringed inwardly. _Talk to me._ But he forced some levity into his tone. "Look familiar?"

Under a photograph of the death mask of Ux Balam was the announcement of a joint lecture by Doctors Harris and Waters at the Dumbarton Oaks. Emblazoned in large type was the title, 'First results from the Tomb of Ux Balam at Seibal' followed by a short abstract.

He placed the page squarely in the center of her desk. "They mailed it to me, adding a note asking us both to come."

She arched an eyebrow. "How did they know about us? We only found out they were back because Maria called from the Embassy."

He shrugged. "She told them? I don't know." He put his case down by his desk, then walked to the coat stand, smiling at the NICAP hat hanging there.

She pushed her desk chair back, then rose. "Oh, don't take your coat off. We need to go talk, away from here."

Relieved, he closed his eyes before he responded. _Finally!_ He nodded as she crossed the room to get her own wraps. Almost unconsciously, he helped her put the long grey trenchcoat on over her equally dark wool jacket and slacks, then looked down at himself. _We even dress alike now._

-o-0-o-

Jefferson Memorial  
Monday, 10:00 am

They were headed to their usual spot looking out over the Tidal Basin. The oaks and maples were in their full autumn glory, all red, orange, and gold. October was the most pleasant month of the year in the Washington area, dry with warm days and cool nights, this year being no exception. Once they were settled, Scully silently handed him the envelope, he extracted the papers, then began to read.

9/20/96

Dana,

I couldn't go any longer without letting you know. Max and I didn't die in the explosion in Chilmark. We left through the basement door just before the blast, hiding in the woods, and leaving Massachusetts for good. I hope Fox hasn't suffered too much. Tell him for me, and give him my love. I'll try to write as often as I can. Take care, both of you.

Caroline Lowenberg

The rest of the pages were blank, padding to shield against scanning. He looked at her hand resting on his coat sleeve.

She rubbed the wool gently. "I'm glad for you, Mulder. Maybe she will feel safe enough to come home one day."

He studied her carefully neutral expression. _No, 'we'll get her back for you', no 'maybe she'll let us know what she does'?_ "Thanks, Scully." He returned the letter to her, then thought of the packet his Mother sent to his partner in the hospital. "We should destroy this."

She removed the blank sheets, holding the letter and envelope out to him. Together, they tore the papers into smaller and smaller pieces, dumping portions in several drains and trash cans around the Memorial.

He could tell she was restless as they walked back to the car, her discomfort spurring him to speak. "Scully, enough is enough. *Please* tell me what's been bothering you. I promise I won't break."

She stopped, taking her partner's elbow.

Mulder turned to her, waiting and watching her shrink into herself.

She chewed her lip for a moment, then raised her eyes to his, resigned to what she had to tell him. "You're right, there is something else." She clutched his arm, using him as an anchor. "Please, what I'm about to say has nothing to do with you. It's me. I've enjoyed working with you, Mulder." She chewed her lip, hard, stared at the water, then back to his face. "I'd like to thank you for sharing your grief over your Mother with me. It's helped me deal with Mel's death, whether you were aware of it or not. Since Arizona, we've become very close, and I'd like to stay your friend, even after I apply for my transfer back to Quantico."

He started. _What!_ "But, Scully, I thought..."

She shook her head. "No, Mulder, let me finish. I'm no good to you anymore."

He took her hand, tucking it under his arm to guide her back to the bench. _I think I know where this is going._ "You can stop beating yourself up over my Mother's non-death. Speaking as a friend who regularly indulges in long bouts of self-pity, it won't help."

She waited until they sat down, side by side. "It's not that. When I was assigned to you, you thought of me as a spy, which, to a certain extent, was my assignment. But before we were broken up..."

Mulder's face colored. _Before you were taken away from me._

She looked into his eyes, continuing quickly to banish the darkness she saw there. "You showed me things, things I couldn't explain away. Even after my return, I would out and out deny the evidence you kept finding with me."

Mulder settled against the slats of the bench back. "But, it's been so good lately." He shrugged. "Well, not always, especially with what's happened to you, but after we found the papers..."

She grasped his wrist, silencing him. "Yes, the notebooks. Once I understood what they meant, I couldn't just continue deny that there was something to what you've been saying all along."

Now he rested his hand on her shoulder. "That scares you."

She shook head vehemently. "No, it just..." She stopped. "I couldn't work out what was wrong with what you were saying, couldn't do more than just agree with your theories, and that's dangerous. We've always managed to balance each other, you and I, but now, I can't see any other solution than yours." She stared out over the water, her voice dropping into a whisper. "I know it's been good between us. I like that."

He shifted around to watch her face. "So what's wrong? Why are you leaving me? Why do you want to leave the X-Files?"

She squared her shoulders to face him. "I mean, I feel like I've lost my way, so much so that I can't do my job for you by being your sparring partner like I should. I can't force myself to walk, step by step, when you leap, anymore." She shoved her fists in her coat pockets. "And, I've made some bad decisions while working with you these past few months, ones that could have cost us our lives. I should never have forced you into the wire in Phoenix, nor should I have taken the Seibal case."

As she looped her hair behind one ear, he frowned. "What was it about Seibal?"

She shrugged. "Skinner didn't want us to go down there, but I thought, 'If I were Mulder, I'd go, check things out.' So I went, pulled you away from your Mother, nearly got us both killed twice, and Director Skinner, too. We survived only because I agreed to believe with you, rather than demand you prove everything to me. It was the medal ceremony that drove the point home."

He slid across the bench, close to her. "But that was real acknowledgment, more than we've ever had before."

She held up one hand to stop his objection. "No, it wasn't. It was all political, staged for the Shadows' benefit, so I started thinking on the way back on the plane. If it had been real, the medal would have been the first official recognition of accomplishment I have received since starting work for the FBI. And it only came when I stopped doing what I would normally do and followed your lead."

Her partner was fidgeting anxiously. "Scully, I never wanted..."

Her lips set in a hard, thin line. "It was all working for you, seeing Ux Balam, talking to him, hearing things through his mind. All I saw was a light. I didn't have any proof to back me up, and I can't just believe the way you can. With no frame of reference for what I was experiencing, I felt cast adrift. You were so drained, then lost your Mother, I couldn't tell you until now." She shivered, then gathered the coat around herself, shrinking smaller still as she wrapped her arms around her stomach.

"No, it's not like that." Mulder tried to grasp both her shoulders.

But she shrugged his hands away. "I've seen so much working with you that I can't explain in terms of our current knowledge of the physical world that I don't know what to think. And I can't believe everything you say, either. I just can't. I've honestly tried, really I have. Boggs, Kryder, I tried to see things as a believer, but I just can't square it."

Mulder found himself whispering in desperation. "Scully, don't go." He leaned over towards her until their shoulders touched, needing the physical contact. "I'm sorry you felt you had to do that. I've never wanted you to just agree with me or to be exactly like me. It's been tough these past six weeks, saying strange things even I can't accept, then watching you try to justify them in your reports to Skinner. You've been acting as if I were the absolute greatest authority on everything to do with our cases." He let out a small laugh. "While that's a sure way to butter a guy up, it simply isn't true. When we first met, I told you, 'In most of my work, the laws of physics rarely seem to apply.' That was a glib remark you took too much to heart."

One eyebrow lifted.

The expression hit him like pre-dawn light. _Some sparks, finally._ "Before I met you, I thought Science was just a set of beliefs, like a religion. You either accepted these 'rules' and went on about your life, or you didn't. And I still don't accept all the 'rules', as you well know."

As her pale face colored, one corner of her mouth turned up slightly.

He felt himself beginning to hope. "But, all the discussions we've had over the years have been an education for me. You've taught me about the 'Scientific Method', a process, not a set of rules." He began pacing in front of her. "Look, I know this will sound strange, coming from me, but the method of starting with something that isn't understood, trying to figure out what questions to ask about this unknown thing, then seeking the answers, and starting all over again if needs be, is exactly what we do on a case. And I can't do that alone, Scully. I need your logic and rigor to winnow the Truth from the lies. Psychology is strong on feelings and weak on structure."

The upturn was spreading into a full smile.

He hunched over, bringing his eyes level with hers. "I'm wrong so often, and you've been there to pull me out of trouble, even when I haven't wanted you to, starting right at the beginning, at Ellens Air Force Base. I should never have jumped on that boxcar in West Virginia, never, as you tried to tell me. You were right about the deaths in Miller's Grove, all of them. I need for you to be true to yourself, to make those steps, to tell me when I've gone off the deep end, not jump in after me."

She stared at the ground, the light gone. "Oh. But I don't know anymore, Mulder."

He touched her arm. "Yes, you do. You just need to listen to yourself sometimes, so you have my permission to tell me to back off so you can."

She chewed her lower lip. "But our present day theories can't necessarily explain everything..."

He shook his head. "That's the operative phrase, 'present day theories.' You're back to being stuck on 'rules' again. Don't think like a doctor, where everything has an answer, and the patient is either cured or dies. You're a Physicist, too, so think about Godel's Theorem, the Heisenberg Uncertainty Principle, and Chaos. All these ideas are about breaking 'rules', and I wouldn't have known about them unless you told me about them, or challenged me to go learn about on my own. How do you think the sciences got where they are now?"

She thought, then inhaled. "By examining the data that don't make sense in terms of current theory and understanding." Her words were spoken in the sing-song of recitation.

He nodded. _She's beginning to sparkle again, I can see it._ "In a way, that's what we're doing here in our search for the Truth, finding phenomena that can't be explained today. No less an empiricist than Steven Jay Gould..."

She feigned surprise.

He cocked his head. "Yes, I do read something besides books on aliens, no less than Gould, has written that sometimes the best answer is a negative result. It means the theory doesn't work, which is important to know. We can't find the really interesting truth amid all the lies if we don't struggle for it."

She rose. "So, unless I hold your feet to the fire over every alien abductee we interview, Modern Science will fail, and society as we know it will cease to exist?"

He laughed at the thought. "Or the Reticulans will start replacing everyone with pod people, and we won't know. Just don't leave, okay? And don't be afraid to tell me when you think I'm wrong. You've shot me, slugged me, even drugged me when you thought you could help me, and that didn't separate us, so a few arguments about the nature of reality won't."

She bumped his arm with her shoulder. "Okay."

They began walking back to the car, but found themselves holding each other instead. Scully buried her face in her partner's white cotton shirt, slipping her arms around his waist under the long tweed coat. Mulder's arms overlapped around her shoulders, as he pulled her close, then hid his face in the silk at her neck. They rocked each other, then separated, mentally prepared to start work for the day.

-o-0-o-

J. Edgar Hoover Building  
Washington, DC  
Monday, 6:15 pm

Scully dragged herself back into the basement, spent from the gruesome work at the morgue.

Mulder took one look at her ashen face, then winced. _No quiet dinner tonight._

She had worked the rest of the day on the victims of "Plato," a serial killer he had profiled.

He extended his sympathy. "Just as bad as you thought?"

She sat behind her desk, rubbing her temples, feeling a blinding headache beginning. "Worse. Your analysis for VC was dead on, as usual, pardon the pun. In all our work on the X-Files, we've never come across someone as evil as this. To cut the real victims up and reassemble them into his vision of ideal people, well, the human mind..." _Oh, please, no pain, not tonight._

"Is one of the final frontiers. If you don't feel up to it, we can just call it a night and can the lecture."

She looked up. "No, let's go. I'd like to meet the two men we tried to find." She checked her watch. "We'll have to hurry."

-o-0-o-

Auditorium  
Dumbarton Oaks  
Monday, 6:40 pm

Bob Harris looked up from his notes. "Do you see them, Steve?"

Steve Waters shook his head, then blinked at the light cast by the opening door.

It was the FBI agents, a tall man and his tiny red-haired partner.

"There they are."

The agents approached the two archaeologists, Mulder nodding to Jerry Collins, who was setting up the slide projector.

"Agent Mulder, Agent Scully!" Bob Harris called out.

The four shook hands before retiring to a side room to talk.

-o-0-o-

"We have a message for you, from Ux Balam." Bob Harris began, but Waters interrupted him.

His colleague shook his head. "We *think* from Ux Balam. After all, we were in comas, as nearly as the doctors who looked at us could tell."

Doctor Harris frowned at his associate. "He met us on the edge of the Ballcourt in Xibalba, and wanted to say thank you to you two, but especially you, Doctor Scully, for all you did for his Maya, and he hoped you would recover, Agent Mulder. He's there now, playing for the souls of his people."

Steve Waters rolled his eyes. "We were in comas, remember? I'm not going to stand out there with you tonight and explain the scoring for the Ballgame and the meaning of the pillar layout. Someone will ask 'How do you know?' and we'll be run out on a rail for the answer 'We played it in Xibalba.' We need more evidence from archaeology for...What?"

The two agents were laughing, exchanging a long look.

Mulder bumped his partner's shoulder. "This is what we look like? No wonder we never get any plum assignments."

"Gentlemen, if you please, it's time to start." The Director ushered the agents to seats in the front.

As the lights dimmed, Scully stretched up to whisper in her partner's lowered ear. "Just think, you wanted to pass this up, Mulder."

He responded, sotto voce. "And miss those two rolling around on the floor with their hands on each other's throats? Never, Scully, never."

For the next hour, they were treated to glyphic decipherments, tomb vase rollout photos, and stone stelae interpretations, all devoted to Ux Balam. They heard of his great victory over Dos Pilas on the Ballcourt, of Yax-Zoc and her march of blood, of their failure to produce a child, and how the city fell to foreign invaders under Ux Balam's younger brother.

Scully was enthralled, until the screaming pain in her head took over. By the end, she was wincing at the dim light from the screen, jumping as the projector advanced slides.

Mulder leaned over to her as the lights came up. "You okay?"

She shook her head.

"Headache?"

"Migraine." Her green-blue eyes were squinted, almost completely closed.

"We'll skip the reception, then. You want to stop for anything on the way home?"

"No. I won't be able to eat until this goes away, and the smell of food just makes it worse. Take me home, please."

Normally, he would have zinged her with a comeback, but tonight, he helped her into her coat and out the door. "Just one stop before we get there, but you can stay in the car. Do you mind?" He was relieved when she shook her head once.

-o-0-o-

Tsim Yung Chinese Carryout  
Alexandria, Va  
Monday, 8:45 pm

"Hello!" The tiny Taiwanese woman greeted Mulder as he stepped through the glass door, several bells on the long handle chiming.

"Hi."

She waited while he looked over the menu. "Doctor Scully is not feeling well?"

Mulder looked up, surprised she recognized his partner, slumped against the window in the car. "No, she's not. Headache." Before her surgery, Scully usually ordered Kung Pau Chicken, but now she was eating tofu and various seaweed products he didn't even want to contemplate. "I'd like the beef with broccoli, please. What does Doctor Scully usually get?"

The woman's face lit up in a huge smile. "Buddhist Delight and steamed vegetable dumplings. You ordering for her?"

"Yes, I am." He paid the cost of the take-out, watching the cooks in the long galley behind the counter in action, chopping and stir-frying the two entrees.

In a corner, the woman filled soft wonton wrappers with strips of ginger, cabbage, carrot, and shitake mushrooms. Then she pinched the ends of the wrappers shut, forming little bags with her wet fingers. She loaded the dumplings into a bamboo steamer, then set the steamer over water boiling in a huge wok. As the entrees finished, she removed the dumplings, packaging up rice, the dumplings, and the main dishes.

He thanked her before returning to the car, where Scully was struggling to relax the muscles in her neck with her hands. "Sorry it took so long." He bent forward to see her face. _She looks miserable._ "Hope the smell doesn't bother you too much on the way home, Scully."

"It'll be okay, Mulder."

-o-0-o-

Apartment 5  
Alexandria, VA  
Monday, 9:10 pm

Scully grimaced as the keys hit the floor for the second time, the jangling amplified by her raging pain into thunderclaps. She could hear her dog scratching and whining inside. _He'll need a walk. A short walk._ Once she opened the door, she stepped back to let her partner in.

The Pomeranian jumped up and down at the smell of the food, attempting to bite the bag, all other bodily functions forgotten.

Scully sighed. "I'll take him out, Mulder. You eat your dinner." Before he could protest, she had dropped her case to clip the leash on the dog's collar. "Come on, Fuzzball, let's go." Then she was out the door.

Mulder put his briefcase down next to hers, then walked into the kitchen, sliding the unopened packages into the refrigerator. He knew she would refuse pain killers, if offered, as she had all the times he tried to get her to use them when she was recovering in March. But he knew something better for migraines, something he learned when his mother used to get them. He turned the lights off in the kitchen, leaving a single fifty watt bulb on in the living room.

Eventually he heard the dog's toenails clicking on the wooden floor of the center hallway, _Got a nice long walk, did you, fellah?_ He rose to open the door, checking her face as she entered. _Looks like the cool air didn't help any._

After she unclipped the leash, the dog scooted into the kitchen, tracking the beef with broccoli. Wagging his tail, he waited by the refrigerator door.

Scully paused in the kitchen doorway. "No, no, no bad beef with broccoli for you."

"Scully!" Mulder feigned looking wounded.

She winced, then tried to grin at his joke, failing miserably. "For my boy, *yummy* Science Diet. Good, healthy, and nutritious." She scooped the contents of a small can into a bowl.

The dog sniffed the food, then returned to the refrigerator.

Mulder grinned. "Well, score another one for the Red Menace. He knows too much Science is bad for his brain. You're raising a junk food junkie there." Seeing how pale she was, he pulled out one of the kitchen table chairs, then patted the back.

Baffled, she settled on the hard seat.

He placed one of the other chairs opposite her, shrugging out of his jacket and tie and rolling up his sleeves before he sat.

When he reached out to her, she drew back. "Mulder?"

"Now, I used to do this for my mom, so just relax."

She dropped her shoulders, thinking of the care he had given her when she had been recovering. "She used to get migraines?"

"Um-hum." He probed her forehead with his fingers. When he felt her push hard against them and gasp, he knew he had found a concentrated knot of shooting pain. He worked in small circles, starting just below the point of suffering and in the middle of her forehead, moving out and up. He kept massaging past the hairline, around her head, down the back of her neck, stopping at the edges of her shoulders.

"That's working, I can feel it."

"Wait, I'm not done yet. Come with me, you need to lie on the sofa, face down." When she had complied, he began at the same spot on her forehead again, massaging slowly around her head, then down her shoulders, until her regular breathing told him she was asleep. He knew from Chilmark that slumber was the only cure, but she had to relax enough to get there.

Scully had replaced the afghan on the sofa with the Maya blanket, so he covered her with it, removing her pumps as he did so. Since his Mother was always hungry when she woke up, he sat on the floor by her head, turned the television on with the sound off, then waited.

-o-0-o-

After about forty-five minutes, her cordless phone rang. He grabbed it before it could sound a second time, taking it into the kitchen to speak without waking her. "Mulder. Oh. Hi, Mrs. Scully."

"Fox, dear, what are you doing there? Is Dana all right?"

"Yes, just a migraine. She's sleeping right now. Do you want me have her call you back when she wakes up?"

"No, well, if she wants to, but I really wanted to talk to you and you weren't at your place."

He checked his cell phone, finding he had somehow turned it on in his coat pocket, so the battery had run down. "What is it?"

Her voice dropped. "I got a letter today."

"Don't say anything over the phone, Mrs. Scully. I know what you're referring to."

"Is everything going to be all right?"

"I think it will for a while. Mrs. Scully?"

"Yes?"

"How often does Scully get these headaches?"

"Not very often. The last one was after she passed her medical board certification. She usually only gets them after she's worked her way through something significant. She had a really bad one after graduating from Medical School; it kept her in bed for a week." She stopped. "I know you can't give me any details, but is everything going well at work?"

"It is." _Now._ "She had some nasty autopsies to do today. That's what was bothering her."

"It must be. Come back to visit soon, I miss having people in the house."

He smiled, thinking of the belated cake she fixed for him on Sunday. "Sure."

"Fox?"

"Yes?"

"Take care of Dana for me? She may need a day or so off work."

"Okay, I will. Bye."

Margaret hung up, wondering.

-o-0-o-

Apartment 5  
Alexandria, VA  
Monday, 11:30 pm

Dana Scully awoke, then turned over. Her partner was asleep in the chair where she last saw her father, his legs propped on the coffee table. The Pomeranian was curled up in his lap, snoring softly. _Wish I had a camera. Red Menace indeed, Mulder._ Realizing his cure had worked, she pushed herself off the sofa. The motion startled the dog, who yipped, waking the man.

He looked over at her. "Scully?"

"You're a miracle worker, Doctor Mulder, I'm healed."

"Hosanna. Hungry now?"

She smiled. _He really does know how these things progress._ "Famished. But you only bought beef with broccoli."

He shook his head. "They must know you there, Doctor Scully. Buddhist Delight and steamed vegetable dumplings, although I think all those low fat fungi will give you hallucinations."

"Mulder!"

He pushed the dog off his lap, both heading for the kitchen.

Following him, she watched as he placed the dumplings in the microwave.

He stared over his shoulder at her. "How long?"

She punched in sixty seconds, then set out two plates for the rest of the food.

He stepped between her and the counter. "No, Ma'am, you sit. I'll do this."

She smiled as she replaced the two chairs they had used earlier. "Working on your resume?"

He frowned, then recalled their discussion after climbing out of the pit at Ux Balam's tomb. "Have to. The Holistic Detective Agency won't return my calls."

-o-Finis-o-

Xibalba

=====o====================================================o=====

Thank you, all who have ventured this far. Many fans have wondered why Scully won't just 'believe' in the paranormal after all she has seen working with Mulder. I wrote this story partially because I wanted to explore the problems for her psyche if she did.

Those running numbers under the Gregorian dates are the Maya Long Count dates, and "Forest of Kings" (see below) explains very nicely how they work. I could also cheat, since they explicitly set out the Long Count for January 1, 2000. With no leap days between the time of the story and then, I could roll the clock backwards, not start at the beginning of the Present Creation, August 11, 3114 BCE.

Linda Schele and David Stuart are both real people and scholars of the new Maya school of thought. Linda, not an archaeologist originally, but an artist, really does love Palenque, does revisit nearly every summer, and will, as any good member of the Amalgamated Thinkers and Philosophers Union should, explain her beloved Maya to all who ask.

David Stuart's parents worked for the National Geographic Society on Central America, so he was exposed to the Maya as a very young child. He did translate his first glyph at eight, and may, by now, have his PhD from Princeton. I didn't intend those statements to be a dig at David Duchovny, who left Yale to become an actor, since I haven't finished my own PhD from Johns Hopkins, either. I just think it's wonderful that we can now hear the ancient Maya stories in their own words, see the constellations as they did, and we owe it all to some very interesting and dynamic researchers.

There are several excellent popular books out explaining the present state of Maya scholarship to the non-specialist. I have used the "Maya Cosmos" text extensively, especially for the astronomy parts. However, *don't* take what I say in the story as the absolute state of the art in this field, as it changes from day to day. And any mistakes are mine, not Scully's or the scholars. Let me recommend:

"Breaking the Maya Code" by Michael D. Coe, published in 1992 by Thames and Hudson, Inc. of New York, 304 pp.

"Maya Cosmos: Three Thousand Years on the Shaman's Path" by David Freidel, Linda Schele, and Joy Parker, published in 1993 by William Morrow and Company, Inc. of New York, 543 pp.

"The Mesoamerican Ballgame" edited by Vernon L. Scarborough and David R. Wilcox, published in 1991 by The University of Arizona Press in Tucson, 404 pp.

"A Forest of Kings: The Untold Story of the Ancient Maya" by Linda Schele and David Freidel, published in 1990 by William Morrow and Company, Inc. of New York, 542 pp.

"The Code of Kings: The Language of Seven Sacred Maya Temples and Tombs" by Linda Schele and Peter Mathews, published in 1998 by Scribner of New York, 432 pp.

This includes a chapter on Seibal, so you, dear reader, can visit the site of this adventure I've written for Mulder and Scully. Also, there is a wonderfully detailed description of Pacal's tomb in the chapter on Palenque.

"Popol Vuh: the Mayan Book of the Dawn of Life, revised edition", translated by Dennis Tedlock, published in 1996 by Touchstone, 388 pp.

-o-0-o-

One final disclaimer. The Mulder as the Energizer Bunny joke is a riff off a suggestion for an Energizer battery commercial by Randy and Mary Kaye Krum. Their thought was for a 30 second X-File showing Mulder's Supervolt batteries failing in his cell phone as the fabulous pink beast is carried away in a spaceship, but, hey, I call'em as I see'em.

=====o====================================================o=====

Originally released to ATXC: 3/10/96

=====o=====================================================o=====

40


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